


The Red Braid

by Fran_fic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Characters shown to have sex - 17 years old or older, Dubious Consent, Forced Body-Mods, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Sound Relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, Threat of torture, Underage Prostitution, Unsound Relationships, Violence, offensive slurs, romantic feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2021-04-10
Packaged: 2021-04-17 10:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 92
Words: 395,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fran_fic/pseuds/Fran_fic
Summary: Young Lord Nickel Wren might not realize it, but when he acquires an abused and badly behaved slave boy out of pity, he’s trying to buy himself both love and purpose. It might be a big mistake, but the question is if he learns anything at all from these life-lessons. For Taven, the once nameless slave who had lost all hope, there will be care, affection and safety the like of which he never could have dreamed. Emotionally stunted, aggressive and untrusting, he will eventually learn to open up and care about others, but is love possible, or is he only trapped in a snaring web of gratitude? An unexpected disaster forces them both to face these questions.
Comments: 1756
Kudos: 636





	1. Introduction

About the setting

This is a story with a contemporary vibe to it, with a world populated by simply plain human beings. There are no fantasy, Sci-Fi, or supernatural themes.

The setting is an alternative universe of our own modern times. Though I never specify a year, it’s a late 20th century, or early 21st century world, familiar to us, with the exception that in this fictional country slavery still exists. (It’s implied it doesn’t in neighboring countries, at least not in a state-sanctioned way like the case is here).

Misc. Info

This is a very old story of mine. It was started in 2002, and was posted on several different personal sites, as well as Fictionpress.com, during the following years, as a WIP, but was taken down from all of those places before it was completed. Then I started to post a revised version of the incomplete story on my Live Journal in 2009, where it was completed a few years later. If the story seems vaguely familiar to you, it could be because you might have run into it at one of those places.

This AO3 version is the second major revision, which I did this time on a now completed story. 

If you read the Live Journal version, this is in all things that matter the same story, but there has been changes made. I’ve tried my best to make the language better, to fix minor issues and plot holes, and to make the characterization more consistent. In this process, several scenes and passages were removed, while quite a few new were added. 

In no way do I claim this story is anywhere near perfection after this latest revision, but there will most likely not be a third one, as I’m now ready to move on to other projects. However, should you note an especially egregious spelling or grammar error that I missed, do by all means mention it, and I’ll correct it as soon as I can find the time.

As mentioned, there is new material here and there throughout the story, but above all, there is an entire new chapter added to the end, which rounds out the story a bit better and ties up a few loose ends. I’ve also written a few “non-official” scenes or side stories, which I might post once the main story is all posted. 

I structured the story a bit differently when I posted it on my Live Journal, so the chapter numbers are not the same. In this version, there will be 87 chapters, with a total word count of ~ 380 000, excluding the extra scenes mentioned above.

I’ve decided on a “one chapter a week”-schedule, and it will be on Sundays. Since the story is already completed, this schedule should run smoothly for the most part. However, since a few of the early chapters are very short, I will make a double post those weeks. I also can’t promise I won’t miss to post at all some weeks, because of things like, National Holidays, going on vacation, getting sick or unforeseen spanners in the works that might happen only on the account of being alive. I hope none of that will occur in a manner I will be forced to forego this schedule, but it’s hard to promise it will never happen. If I ever need to change posting day, I will inform of this in a chapter note. 

The vignette/cover artwork was drawn by yours truly. 

I do have a Discord server, with the following invite code: https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw, which you are welcome to join to say hi, discuss my work as well as similar subjects in general, or just hang out. Note, **18+ ONLY**!

Disclaimer

The author does not condone any of the bad things happening in this story, and does not in any way mean to portray the unequal dynamics as good or sound relationships. The protagonists are flawed people (no matter their basic decency, good intentions and good deeds) whose problematic mindsets and actions I would not stand behind in a real life scenario.

Mind the tags! 

Some tags refer to things explicitly described in the story’s present time, while others are only implied, spoken about or described as being in the characters’ past. The underage warning is for mentions of such activities or characters talking about it happening, and for being in the characters' past, and not shown in any scene in the story, with the exception of a few scenes were the main character is shown to have sex at seventeen years old. 

It’s notoriously tricky to convey the level of severity of each tag in a header correctly, or the context in which they occur, due to the lack of space to elaborate, as well as the subjective mindset of an individual reader, so as a general rule of thumb, mind the tags!

\-----o0o-----

I hope you will enjoy the story, and I hope to see you in the comment field.

Yours  
Fran


	2. A Visit To The Slave Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
  


The owner greeted them already at the entry.

”Lord Wren! Welcome to my humble establishment.” The man smiled widely and all but pulled Nickel inside the door in his eagerness. “I hope you’ll find our wares to your satisfaction.” 

They followed the portly man through another door and out into a larger hall. 

“You know this guy?” Roth whispered as the trader hurried out onto the floor and they fell behind.

“Never seen the man before,” Nickel whispered back, looking amused. “These traders would keep track of the clans, I suppose. It’s usually where the wealthiest customers are.”

“He’s but rolling out the red carpet, isn’t he?” Roth mumbled, only a little bit miffed the trader had, so far, completely ignored _him_. Not that he would ever be a customer. 

The slave trader stopped and waited for them to catch up, eagerly motioning them farther inside. “Are you looking for something in particular, Sir, or would you like to browse the hall?” he asked.

“I’ll just look about, thank you.” Nickel said.

If his boss hoped the trader would leave him to it at this, he was obviously mistaken. 

“I’m sure you’ll find something you like, Sir. I have something for all tastes and needs,” the trader went on, not leaving Nickel’s side for a second. “I have a few good ones over here, which I’m sure you’ll agree are simply lovely.” He took Nickel by the elbow and steered him along while shouting orders at two men at the other side of the hall. The trader’s employed armed guards, Roth noticed. 

Roth followed a few steps behind, shaking his head. He didn’t like places like this. Earlier, If Nickel had specified where they were going, instead of only saying they were ‘going downtown’; Roth might have made up an excuse not to come. It wasn’t necessary to bring a bodyguard here. 

However, working for the young lord the last four years, they had become friends. These days Nickel often asked him to join him, whether he actually needed the protection or not. Roth wasn’t always sure anymore what was work, and what was ‘hanging out’. He didn’t care which, most of the times these days; he didn’t have anything more important to do anyway.

He looked about the hall. Roth had passed this building many times but he’d never been inside. At least not as long as it had been a slave market. It used to be a train station, and he remembered taking the train from here a few times as a kid, together with his parents. Years ago the city had rerouted the railway tracks and built new stations, but this one hadn’t been demolished as many others. Instead, someone had turned it into... this. 

Roth studied the remodeled interiors as they walked across the flagstones of the former waiting hall, their steps echoing under the high domed ceiling. To his left were several large doors with signs, saying, ‘Office’, ‘Baths’, ‘Examinations’ – Roth shuddered – and ‘Staff only – Do not enter!’. Rows of barred cell doors lined the other walls, reaching up two stories, metal grate stairs leading to the upper cells. 

It seemed during daytime these cells were empty, and the slaves were standing around the large hall in small groups, or sitting on the old wooden benches where travelers used to rest their feet while waiting for their arrivals and departures. They were all dressed in the same gray loose-fitting pants and long sleeved t-shirts, which looked to be one size only. The taller ones had arms and legs sticking out of too short sleeves and pants legs, while a few little runts seemed almost to disappear in their clothes. 

Apparently, some slave traders specialized. Roth had noticed soon enough there were only boys in here, and how young they were. He’d be surprised if any of them were over twenty, most were considerably younger. He saw how they warily watched them – it was still early in the morning, Nickel and he were the only customers– and apart from the blabbering slave trader, and the sound of their steps, the hall was eerily quiet. 

Roth recalled his own boyhood years and how much noise only a small group of his friends made on the schoolyard and in the streets, but these boys were quiet and still. Properly subdued from birth, he thought. 

The two employees had picked out a boy each from the floor, per their boss’ instructions, and now brought them up for Nickel to look at. Nickel smiled at the kids and patted their shoulders, but shook his head. 

Roth looked on in puzzlement. He didn’t know what his boss was looking for. The mansion was already full of slaves and he couldn’t see Nickel would ever need another. On the other hand, Nickel often bought things he didn’t need. What else would a man that wealthy do when he was bored? Thinking more about it, though, Roth thought he might have an inkling, after all, which might explain why Nickel had turned down the trader’s first offer, hardly even sparing them a glance. Those kids had looked about twelve, at the most. Too young. 

Yeah, Roth thought, he might know what Nickel was hoping for. 

Nickel attempted to get away from the trader once more, veering off in another direction. He peered back over his shoulder at Roth and discreetly rolled his eyes. Roth grinned in reply and followed, with the trader and his men in tow. 

His boss halted before a few of the older boys, but didn’t give any of them more than a fleeting glance before moving on again. After having passed one of the many barred doors along the wall, though, Nickel stopped dead in his tracks and turned back for a second look, his eyebrows shooting up at whatever he saw in there. 

Curious, Roth came up alongside of him and peered through the bars, as well. The lights were out in the cells, but there was someone in there. He could see a small figure huddle in a corner.

The slave trader immediately stepped between them, pushing Roth aside, tugging at Nickel’s sleeve, and obviously trying to deflect his attention away from the cell. “I have an older boy over here that I’m positive will be to your liking. If you’d come this way, Sir.”

Nickel retrieved his arm with an annoyed jerk. “Is that a girl in there?” he asked. “I thought you traded exclusively in boys.”

Roth saw it now, a long braid, hanging over the slave’s shoulder, the end disappearing in the shadows. 

The trader sighed deeply. “It is a boy, Sir, a longhair exotic that I… acquired not long ago.”

“Oh, an exotic? A longhair? I’m intrigued,” Nickel said, brightening up. “I’d like to take a closer look.”

Now, the trader looked like he wanted to pull Nickel away from the cell with force, and the reaction surprised Roth. Exotics were expensive, weren’t they? The trader should be thrilled Nickel showed interest in his more valuable merchandise, shouldn’t he? 

“He’s nice enough to look at, Sir. A genuine redhead and those are not very easy to come by. However, he’s not for sale. Uh, not today, so if you would like to…”

“Not for sale?” Nickel interrupted. “Is there something wrong with him? Is he ill? ” 

The trader looked to be the victim of some inner battle and nervously patted his forehead with a handkerchief he fished out of the breast pocket of his suit. “I might as well be honest with you, Sir,” he finally said. “Most things are wrong with this boy, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, but I have a reputation to uphold and I can’t in good conscience sell this one to you. A closer look won’t be necessary." 

Roth grinned to himself. If the trader really didn’t want to sell this boy, his tactics weren’t working. He was making Nickel more curious by the second. 

“Well, I’d like to make up my own mind,” Nickel said. “What would be the harm in taking a look only?”

“Sir,” the trader tried again. “This boy hasn’t been trained properly, and I fear he might not be right in the head. He can be rather aggressive.”

Nickel raised an eyebrow. “Aggressive? An _exotic_?” 

Roth had no idea what an exotic was suppose to be like but it was obvious his boss didn’t believe the trader. He was inclined to agree with Nickel’s suspicions. Roth hadn’t seen many slaves up close before he started to work for Nickel, but all the slaves he’d encountered since – and he thought there were close to a hundred at the Wren estate alone – were as far from aggressive as you could get. ‘Cowed’, was the word he’d use. The ones who weren’t had already been ‘dealt with’, he supposed. 

He looked inside the darkish cell again. The boy silently hung his head in the corner, looking subdued enough. 

“That’s nonsense,” Nickel continued. “At least switch on the lights.”

The trader sighed, but he gestured to one of his men, who walked to the end of the row of cells and flicked a switch on the wall. The cell was flooded with a bright white light. 

The boy tried to look away from the sharp light, and it was immediately obvious to Roth why he didn’t shield his eyes with his hands. They had cuffed the boy’s wrists behind his back, and he wore ankle cuffs, as well. A short chain connecting his wrists with his ankles showed, with ample clarity, why he’d not moved from his huddled position either. How long had he been sitting there in the dark, forced into such an uncomfortable position? 

Roth felt sorry for the boy, and it clearly upset his boss. 

Nickel frowned deeply. “Is it necessary to keep him restrained like that?” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. 

“Is it necessary?” the trader exclaimed. “Believe me, Sir, it is.”

By now, the boy’s eyes seemed to have adjusted to the light and he slowly raised his head and looked at them through the bars. Roth heard Nickel gasp at his side. Someone had beaten the slave, or maybe he’d been in a fight with another boy. In either case, there were bruises in his face, and dried up smears of blood all over his chin and under his nose. 

Nickel might have been on his way to tell the trader a thing or two about the state the boy was in, but in that case, the boy interrupted him. He looked at them all in turn, and his face contorted in anger. “What the _fuck_ are you staring at?” he yelled. 

They both took a step back in sheer surprise. Nickel looked positively shocked.

“Chaining you up isn’t enough?” the trader yelled behind them, flustered from anger. “I should have gagged you, too, you little _bastard_! Insulting my customers… I’ll teach you.”

The boy gave the trader a sneer. “Oh, give it a fucking rest, fatso,” he simply replied, clearly not overly impressed by the threat. 

Nickel still looked as shocked, but Roth couldn’t help smiling at the boy’s remark. The trader wasn’t exactly on the lean side.

The trader seemed less amused and looked like he had to control his anger with a few deep breaths before he could even speak again. “Well, as you can see, Sir, he’s not sellable. He’s badly behaved and has a dirty mouth. Please accept my sincerest apologies, Sir. Rest assured that he will be thoroughly beaten for this.” 

Nickel peered at the boy inquisitively. “Well, I agree that _something_ is wrong. Haven’t you beaten this poor thing enough as it is?” 

“We’re not normally this hard on the boys, Sir. Usually we don’t have to beat them. As I said, there’s something wrong with this one’s head. We have no other choice than to beat and restrain him. He can’t be trusted. I do think he could actually be dangerous.”

Roth looked into the cell again and raised an eyebrow. The boy was a twig. He could probably break him in two with one hand. “Dangerous? That? Oh, come on! It’s just a scrawny kid.”

“Even a child can be dangerous if it has no inhibitions,” the trader explained in a condescending tone, turning to Roth.

“Well,” Nickel said, determined, it seemed, to get back to the question of the boy’s bruises. “Does all this beating help then? Have his manners improved?” 

“No,” the trader whined. “He’s impossible to train I’m afraid, and, so, impossible to sell.” 

Yeah, Roth thought, he completely missed Nickel’s point.

Nickel smiled. “Oh, surely no one is impossible? Besides, it’s an exotic. They always choose them carefully. Obviously, there’s some kind of problem here, but if we can only sort it out… What do you think, Roth?” 

Roth looked into the cell again and saw how the boy glared at them. He still didn’t know what an exotic was supposed to be like, but the anger and hate was obvious in this one’s eyes, and it wasn’t what _any_ slave should be like. Roth agreed that most kids probably wouldn’t improve by being beaten, but the trader might still be right about this one. If there was something mentally wrong with the kid, he could do some real damage, small as he was. What if he went nuts in some way and got hold of a knife? No, Roth didn’t feel comfortable with Nickel bringing this boy home. “I would look at another slave if I were you, Boss,” he said. 

Nickel gave him a smile that seemed to say: ‘But you’re not me, are you?’ and turned back to the trader. “Well, _I_ would like to know more about him. What’s in his papers?”

The trader looked resigned. “Very well, Sir, if you’d like to come this way.” 

He led them across the floor to his office, let them in, turned his back on them to look through his archives then turned again to hand Nickel a folder. 

Nickel opened it and eyed through the papers. “Hm… He’s registered as a long hair exotic, red coloring, but there’s no information about the establishment that trained him?”

“Or _not_ trained him, as the case might be.” The trader remarked. 

His boss ignored the comment. “Seventeen years old… Two previous private owners…” Nickel looked up from the papers. “This doesn’t tell me much. How is his current health?” 

It didn’t escape Roth how awkward the trader looked at this question. Not answering, he unexpectedly turned and yelled. “What are you still doing in here? Didn’t I tell you to…? Uh... To- to… Well? Get going! Out, out!”

Roth had noticed the slave when they’d entered the office, a young man in his late teens, or early twenties, with a short and thick mop of tousled blond hair on his head. He was dressed like all the other boys, but a locked leather collar around his neck singled him out. The slave had been dusting the file cabinets when they walked in, but had stepped aside as his master searched for the folder, humbly waiting in a corner with the damp rag in his hands. He looked completely befuddled at his master’s angry words now, but quickly gathered and obeyed, leaving the office without a word, closing the door behind him. 

He sneered at the trader when he wasn’t looking; the man wasn’t very good at thinking on his feet, was he? Yelling at that poor slave was obviously only an attempt at avoiding Nickel’s question. What was wrong with the redhead’s health? 

“I have to inform you, Sir.” The trader turned to them again. “It seems his first private owner died under mysterious circumstances, and apparently, only the boy was present at the time of his death.” He looked knowingly at them both. 

If he wanted to divert Nickel’s attention, he succeeded.

“Excuse me?” Nickel said. He looked into the papers again. “He would have been thirteen years old. Are you insinuating a slave that young, a mere child, had something to do with his master’s death?”

The trader didn’t answer, shrugged his shoulders, and gave them another knowing look. Apparently, they were to draw their own conclusions from the information given.

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” Nickel said. 

Roth nodded in agreement. He didn’t believe it either. 

“Who knows what really happened, Sir?” the trader said. “If I had been that man’s widow I wouldn’t have taken any risks. I would have reported my suspicions to the authorities and let them deal with it. She voiced no such concern, and simply sold the boy privately, following her husband’s death. However, none of it is of any concern here. I can’t sell this boy in any case. Sir, believe me, I’ve tried everything, but I can’t sort him out. I’m afraid we’ll have to put him down.” The man shook his head with a sad expression.

Roth shuddered.

“Put him down? You can’t be serious.” Nickel protested. “I can’t believe he’s _that_ bad.”

“Believe me, Sir, it’s not a decision I’d make lightly but…”

It was clear Nickel wasn’t going to listen. He slammed the folder down on the trader’s desk and went for the door, pulling Roth with him. “Nonsense,” he repeated. “I said I wanted a closer look, and I’m going to have it.” He resolutely strode back across the floor toward the cell, completely ignoring the trader’s weak protests behind him.

Roth followed in silence. He sure as hell didn’t want to see the poor kid killed any more than his boss did, but he still wasn’t all right with this. It would be just like Nickel to let compassion get the better of him, and make a rash decision he would later regret. Somehow, Roth got the feeling that was what the slave trader was secretively hoping for, in spite of his protests. 

Nickel peered into the cell once again, and his demeanor changed from upset and determined, to kind and caring. “I’m considering buying you, boy,” he said, following this information up with a friendly smile, “which means we would have to…”

“Fuck you!” the boy interrupted. “Fuck _you_! I ain’t gonna go with you,” he yelled.

Roth winced behind Nickel’s back. The kid _was_ nuts. Didn’t he realize what a chance he was turning down here? Didn’t he understand he’d condemn himself to death with this kind of behavior? This wasn’t something Nickel was used to. His boss was a kind person, but he was still a lord, a _clan_ lord. Would he stand for this kind of behavior from a mere slave? Roth doubted it. 

Nickel stepped back with a perplexed and worried look, while the slave trader seemed to have had enough of the whole thing the way he exploded behind them. 

“Shut up! Shut _up_!” he roared. “Or I swear you’ll not live to see tomorrow.” The trader shoved his fist between the bars and shook it at the boy. “I’ve had enough of you, you hear me? I’ve fucking had it with you. I’ll have them take you out the back tonight, you hear. _Tonight_. They’ll shoot you. Do you understand that? I’ll have them put a fucking bullet through the back of your skull for this. Do… you… _get_ that?”

The boy wasn’t late in talking back. “Just fucking kill me then,” he yelled, tears of anger standing in his eyes, his bruised face flushed. “I ain’t scared, you fat bastard. Just fucking do it!”

Roth shook his head. Maybe the kid was miserable enough to want to die, but claiming he wasn’t scared was obviously a lie. The boy was shaking all over, and he wasn’t alone. 

Nickel obviously realized this, too. He took the trader by the arm. “Stop that,” he said. “Please, just stop!” 

His boss made the trader turn and look behind him, and Roth understood what he was trying to draw the man’s attention to. Except for a few of the smaller boys sobbing, the hall was dead silent, every slave in the building staring at them. There was no mistaking the fear on _their_ faces.

The trader patted his forehead with his handkerchief again. “Calm down, boys!” he said loudly. “I was only angry, I didn’t really mean it. There’s not going to be a… No one’s going to di… Uh… You’ll all be fine, boys, there’s no need for concern.” He turned toward the cell again. “See what you’ve done, you little shit?” he hissed. “You’re damn lucky there are no other customers here, or I’d…” 

The boy in the cell only glared daggers back at him. 

“I guess we’d better leave, Boss,” Roth said, thinking they had caused enough distress around here. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nickel answered. “Not until I have had a look at the boy. Would you kindly unlock this cell door?” he asked the trader.

Roth thought the trader looked about as exasperated at Nickel’s stubbornness as he, himself, was surprised. Nickel was still interested in the redhead? Maybe his boss wasn’t as easily scandalized as he’d thought.

“Sir, you can’t be serious,” the trader protested. “After all you’ve seen here, you still want to…? Please, Sir, I ask you to view this from my perspective. I understand you feel sorry for the boy. At some level, I do, too. You might not believe me but having to…” he quickly looked behind him, “resort to such a final solution, isn’t something I _want_ to do. I’d much rather sell him, of course I would. However, what would happen to me, and my business, if you buy him and he does something really bad?” 

Nickel shook his head, clearly not accepting this argument. “I’m a free citizen, and of age. I can make my own choices, _and_ take responsibility for them. I’m aware of the problems now. If I buy him, I have no reason to blame you for anything.”

The trader still looked highly hesitant. 

“I only want to take a closer look,” Nickel insisted. “What can he do, restrained like that? Besides, my bodyguard is with me.”

“All right,” the trader finally said. “Do as you please, Sir, but I have to insist I will not be blamed.”

“I give you my word as a clan lord,” Nickel said, smiling reassuringly. 

The trader didn’t return the smile, but he nodded and waved to his men who had remained close by during the whole exchange. One of them took out a bunch of keys and locked up the barred cell door. 

“Thank you,” Nickel said. “Would you also be so kind to arrange for someone to bring me warm water and a towel, or a clean rag?”

The trader wasted no more air on arguments or protests; he turned to one of the closest standing slaves for sale, and sent him away. After a few minutes, the slave returned with the collared blond boy from the office – probably the trader’s personal slave, Roth thought – who was carrying a bucket and a few towels. The towheaded boy put down the bucket on the floor in front of Nickel as told, and then he shyly bowed to them both before going to stand silently behind his master’s back. The trader turned and absentmindedly patted his bowed head. 

At least there was nothing wrong with _that_ slave’s training, Roth noted dryly.


	3. One Reluctant Piece Of Merchandise

They opened the cell door; his boss picked up the bucket and resolutely walked inside. Roth followed. 

He immediately felt uneasy in the small space. The cell was completely bare and the chained boy sat directly on the cold flagstone floor. Roth had cast a glance into the neighboring cell earlier, and at least there had been a simple bunk bed in that one, if not much else. Maybe they had taken the boy’s bed away, as punishment. 

The boy kept glaring, but whatever Nickel might think about such insolent staring, he seemed determined not to let the slave get to him. He crouched down before the boy and simply stared back.

It seemed the longest time they tried to stare each other down, but eventually Nickel’s demeanor seemed to confuse the boy. The slave was obviously not used to this. Roth guessed either the boy succeeded in putting off possible customers, or he was simply beaten. Nickel neither left, nor seemed angered. 

The boy’s gaze started to waver, and he seemed to think he needed to compensate the defeat with a few more foul words. “What the hell do you want? Leave me alone, you bastard!” 

“I only want to wash your face, so I can see what you look like,” Nickel said calmly. He dipped the towel in the water and wrung it out. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” the boy yelled when Nickel lifted his hand to his face. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Nickel said. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.” 

The boy’s snarl seemed to hold a world of contempt. “I ain’t scared. Don’t fucking _touch_ me!”

In spite of the restraints, the slave tried his best to avoid Nickel’s hand, thrashing his head back and forth. Finally, Nickel simply grabbed his chin and held his head still.

“You fucking bastard.” the boy yelled, spitting Nickel right in the face. 

Nickel put the wet towel to his own cheek instead, and wiped the spit off with a disgusted grimace.

Roth leaned over Nickel where he was still crouching on the floor and caught the boy by the scruff of the neck, raising his hand. The slave might be scared and miserable, but Nickel was only trying to help him, for goodness sake. He wasn’t going to just stand by and watch his employer being so badly rewarded for his efforts. 

Nickel stopped him by getting up and putting a hand on his arm. “Roth, don’t hit him! Please, let go!” 

Roth obeyed, embarrassed. He’d nearly hit a chained kid. 

Nickel crouched down before the boy again, who looked at him with less anger and more astonishment now as if he couldn’t believe a free man would simply wipe off his cheek and _not_ beat him into the ground. Nickel, in his turn, seemed to pretend it hadn’t happened. "As I said,” he patiently resumed, lifting the towel to the boy’s face again, “I have no intentions of hurting you." 

The boy held still this time and Nickel gently wiped his face, cleaning off the dirt and the clotted blood. For the moment, the slave refrained from further invectives. Maybe it felt good enough he couldn’t resist the temptation of letting this ‘strange’ man clean him up. 

“Well, would you look at that,” Nickel said when he’d finished and dropped the dirtied towel in the bucket. “There was actually a face underneath all that.” He smiled. 

It wasn’t a bad-looking face either, Roth thought, even bruised. Like many redheaded people, the boy’s skin was pale in an almost transparent fashion, blue veins showing at his temples, as well as covered in freckles. He had a heart-shaped face with a pointy chin, slate gray eyes, contrasted by colorless eyelashes and eyebrows, a thinly bridged nose, and nicely shaped, but not very full, lips. Yeah, as boys go, this was an attractive one, Roth supposed. 

At least, if Nickel’s expression was anything to go by, he was.

Nickel seemed completely drawn in by the sight before him and kept smiling as he slowly lifted a hand to the boy’s face once again and touched a strand of coppery hair hanging in his eyes, pushing it away. 

The touch snapped the boy out of his deceptively subdued state. He violently jerked away from Nickel’s hand, almost falling over in the attempt, and started cursing again. “Don’t touch me, you son of a _bitch_! You bastard. I’m gonna fucking bite your hand off…” 

He stopped short, it seemed, only because he needed to draw breath, and Nickel hurried to get on his feet and step back to raise his hands in a calming gesture. “Calm down, boy! I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. See? I’m not touching you anymore.”

“What the hell,” Roth said. “What kind of language is that? You should be ashamed of yourself, boy. We’re only trying to help you, don’t you get that?” His earlier bad conscience for nearly having hit the boy was fading fast. He turned to Nickel. “You shouldn’t take this, Boss. The way he behaves, you should have let me slap him.”

“Yeah, just let your fucking ugly gorilla beat me up,” the boy yelled. “Just fucking get to it! I’m fucking used to it.”

Roth lost his temper. “Who do you call ugly, you little shit? I’m gonna…”

Nickel stopped him again, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you, Roth,” he said. 

Roth held back. Right. It was just a kid, trying to provoke a reaction out of them. It would be embarrassing if he succeeded. Nickel was right; he shouldn’t let it get to him. Why did the slave seem so intent on getting himself beaten up anyway? It made no sense to Roth.

Strangely enough, Nickel neither seemed discouraged nor put off. He crouched down before the chained boy for the third time. “I’ve decided to buy you, boy,” he said. “Would you like that? I’ll take you away from here.”

The boy’s mouth fell open in astonishment as if it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard in his life. “What? Why the _fuck_ would I like that?” he yelled. 

The boy sure was loud, Roth thought, must have a fabulous set of lungs in that scrawny chest. 

For the first time, Nickel looked annoyed. “Well, they _are_ planning to put you down, boy,” he said. “I would have thought you’d rather come with me than die here.” 

“I ain’t fucking scared,” the boy yelled back.”I’m not like these other fucking chicken shit slaves. Just let these damn fucks kill me. What the hell is it to you anyway?” 

Oh, it had to be an act, Roth thought; seeing tears welling up in the boy’s eyes. He couldn’t believe the slave wanted to die, or, did he really believe going with Nickel would be worse? Was that it? 

Nickel didn’t answer; he only nodded at the boy’s words with a serious expression, and got back on his feet. Silently he motioned Roth to leave the cell, following close behind. 

It was hard to tell if the trader was relieved or disappointed. “You’ve made the right decision, Sir,” he said nevertheless. “I have several boys over here instead that I think you’ll…”

“Oh, no, no,” Nickel said. “I’ll have this boy. How much do you want for him?”

Roth couldn’t help interfering. Did his boss know what he was doing here? “Boss… Nickel,” he said,” are you really sure about this? You don’t know what’s wrong with this kid. I get it you want to help him, but… Who knows what he’ll do let loose around the mansion? He might try to burn it down, or assassinate every last person in the building, or something.”

“Oh, he’s just frightened, Roth. I’m sure his behavior is only a reaction to bad treatment. Who knows what those previous owners did to him. There’s no need for exaggerations, of course he won’t try to kill anyone.”

Roth hesitated still.

“We can’t leave him here,” Nickel added, his eyes pleading with him. 

Of course, Roth thought, it wasn’t his place to tell his boss what he could, or couldn’t, do with his own money. Technically, he had no say whatsoever here. Nickel still usually listened to his arguments, and in this case, Roth had quite a few of them. He looked back into the cell. The boy was still sniffing and shaking in there, so pathetic in his chained state, for all his anger and foul words. They walked out of here, that slave _would_ be dead by the evening. 

“All right!” Roth said. He guessed they couldn’t leave him here. “Just don’t expect _me_ to tame that wildcat,” he added, trying to sound strict. “That’s not in my job description.” 

Nickel smiled widely. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. 

\-----o0o-----

Back in the office, it was only a matter of signing the papers and paying the trader. He demanded a measly 4000 Taler for the redhead, which even Roth understood was a ridiculously low price for an exotic. The trader only wanted the kid gone now, Roth thought, or maybe he was trying to minimize the risk of Nickel coming back with complaints. His boss could never claim he’d paid too much, after all. 

They all returned to the cell, where the two guards were waiting. Again, the barred door was unlocked. 

Nickel informed the slave. “I’m sorry, boy,” he said. “I can’t accommodate your death wish. I have just bought you.”

The slave didn't receive this news very well. “Fuck you. You son of a bitch. You- you fucking _shithead_.” 

Nickel only shook his head and ignored the outburst. He turned to the guards. “You will have to remove these chains. We can’t bring him with us like this.”

“That wouldn’t be advisable,” the trader said, constantly patting his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. “Keep them on! I’ll include them in the price.”

Roth ignored the trader. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Who has the keys?”

One of the armed guards gave them to him and Roth ventured back inside. He crouched down before the boy and reached for the chain connecting the handcuffs with the ankle cuffs. It was tricky to remove since the boy was sitting on it, but at least he kept still and didn’t make any trouble, until Roth had managed to actually remove the chain, when the slave suddenly yelled and kicked out, hitting Roth in the side, making him lose his balance and topple over on his ass.

“Fuck! You little…” Damn kid had totally caught him off guard.

“Are you all right?” Nickel asked, standing in the door.

Roth was on his feet in seconds, leaning over to grab the kid by the arm where he was still bucking and screaming on the floor. “Yeah, I’ve got this, no problems,” he said, pulling the slave to his feet in one forceful jerk. He wasn’t able to refrain from shaking him a bit, too, in retaliation for the kick. 

The redhead wasn’t very smart, was he? What good would it do him to try to fight back with his feet still chained, and his hands still cuffed behind his back? If the slave had only kept still a little while longer, Roth would have removed those, too. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to now. Roth dragged the struggling, yelling and cursing boy to the door, still chained. 

Goodness gracious, he thought, the kid weighed almost nothing, but he was quite a handful nevertheless. “For fuck’s sake, slave,” he tried, while the boy ferociously struggled in his hands. “We’re not taking you out to hurt you; can’t you get that through your thick skull? Nickel, a hand… If you don’t mind…”

Nickel gestured to the guards to keep away and grabbed the boy’s other arm to help Roth pull him through the door. It proved harder than expected. Somehow, the boy managed to get hold of a bar behind his back, and refused to let go. Roth reached behind him to try to pry his fingers off, but then the boy doubled over and sunk his teeth in his right arm. 

Roth hollered in agony. If Nickel hadn’t gotten a hold of the boy’s hair, pulling hard and forcing him off, he would have fucking knocked the kid unconscious. 

That’s when the two guards seemed to see it fit to intervene, against the wishes of the new owner. They stepped up, tore the boy from their grip and unceremoniously flung him on his back on the hard flagstones. 

Nickel didn’t stop them. 

Ignoring the boy’s hysterical screams the guards turned him on his stomach. One of them sat down on his back and forced a gag into his mouth, while the other retrieved the connecting chain. It was only a moment’s work to gag and hogtie the slave and leave him on the floor. 

Not until then did it seem to dawn on the boy it was no use fighting, or maybe he’d only exhausted himself. He went still, in any case, panting and gasping, but not moving. 

Nickel turned to Roth and touched at his arm. “Oh my, Roth… This doesn’t look so good.”

“You_ think_?” Roth couldn’t help his sarcastic reply. The damn kid drew blood. He hoped the slave didn’t have rabies, or something. It still stung, too. 

Nickel winced. “I’ll make him apologize.”

“He had _better_…” Roth growled.

Nickel gave him an apologetic and placating smile but went to see to the boy. The redhead tried to squirm away from him, but one of the guards put an effective stop to that by simply putting a booted foot on his back and brutally pressing him flat against the floor. 

Nickel’s whole face darkened and Roth couldn’t help grinning. He suspected a certain guard would get a serving of some genuine aristocratic anger in about… one second. 

“Get off him,” Nickel roared. “You step on a defenseless, chained boy, you miserable coward? Well? Get off!”

The man looked angry at first, then confused and lastly embarrassed. “Uh… Yes, Sir,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.” He lifted his boot off the boy’s back, leaving a dirty footprint, and joined his, equally confused, colleague a few steps away. 

The trader angrily told the guards not to interfere again, unless ordered to. They shrugged their shoulders apologetically and looked like they wondered if the pay was really worth this shitty job. 

Nickel turned his back on them and reached his hand out to Roth. “Can I have the keys, please?”

Roth gave them to him. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. Nickel gave him an insecure smile in reply and crouched down beside the boy.

“Now, if I release you, will you behave?” Nickel asked. 

The slave glared at him and chewed on the gag in frustrated helpless anger. He shook his head. 

Roth laughed. “Well, at least he’s honest, Nickel. You can’t fault him for that.”

“Oh, this isn’t funny,” Nickel remarked. He turned back to the slave. “Be reasonable, boy,” he said. “You can’t want to be treated like this? These cuffs must chafe an awful lot, wouldn’t you rather I took them off? If you only calm down, we have no reason to restrain you. I know you’re upset I bought you, but what's done, is done. I can’t return you. Chains, or no chains, you will still have to come with me.”

Maybe Nickel managed to get through to the boy, after all, as he finally nodded to his new master’s words. Nickel smiled then and carefully started working on the locks. Soon, he had removed both cuffs and gag. 

The slave simply remained on the floor at first, as if he couldn’t believe there wasn’t anything restraining him anymore, but then he sprang to his feet and spun around. 

They still had a silent and subdued audience in the gathered slaves on the floor, and it seemed the redheaded boy now realized this for the first time. He looked about with clenched fists and flashing eyes, his chest heaving. “What the _fuck_ are you staring at? You fucking faggot _fuckholes_,” he yelled at a few of the closest boys who quickly scurried away. 

Roth shook his head. 

The guards demonstratively looked the other way at this outburst, and the slave trader moaned. “Sir, please! I have to ask you to remove your purchase as soon as possible,” he said, a desperate tint to his voice. “Other customers might arrive at any time and… Well, this doesn’t look so good for me.” 

Nickel looked more than annoyed at the demand, Roth noticed, but his boss couldn’t argue here. This _wasn’t_ the trader’s problem anymore. “Certainly,” Nickel agreed curtly. “We will have to leave now, boy,” he said, reaching a hand out to the confused slave in front of him. “Come with me! We won’t hurt you, I promise.” 

The redhead backed away in suspicion. “I ain’t going with you,” he repeated, but it was a considerably weaker and shakier protest this time, and he kept looking about himself nervously, his fisted hands shaking. 

He might be scared to go with them, Roth thought, but he’d obviously realized he couldn’t stay here either. 

His boss started to look somewhat frazzled. “All right, I’m _not_ going to drag you out of here in chains, boy. My friend and I are going to leave now, with, or without you. We’re going to our car. I've parked outside the entry, on the other side of the street. We won’t wait long. Understand?”

Nickel simply turned his back on the boy at these words and waved Roth along as he passed him. “Let’s go, Roth!” he said, ignoring everyone else in the hall as he left. Roth gave the trader a quick wave in his boss’ place, and hastily followed.

\-----o0o-----

“So,” Roth said, leaning against Nickel’s car in the street outside. “We’re really leaving if the kid doesn’t come out?”

“Oh, I’m positive he will,” Nickel said. “What else can he do? He’ll come.”

“I suppose,” Roth agreed. He turned his face up against the sun. It looked like it was turning into a nice spring day, and though the air was chilly, the sun warmed nicely.

“Did you _see_ his hair?” Nickel said. “It reached below his knees. Remarkable. I can’t wait to see what it looks like out of the braid.”

Roth peered at his boss. Yeah, he’d seen the kid had unusually long hair, but considering everything else happening in there, he hadn’t exactly taken the time to reflect on that fact. Nickel would though, he guessed. It wasn’t the first time he’d observed his boss had a ‘thing’ for hair. 

“I noticed his teeth,” Roth replied.

Nickel winced. “I’m very sorry. You should see a doctor. I will of course pay the bill.”

“Don’t worry, Nickel. I’ll live. It wasn’t your fault in any case, the kid is obviously….” 

“Look!” Nickel said, interrupting him. “There he is already.”

The large door opened slightly and they could see an arm pushing the boy out in the street, before speedily shutting it again. The small figure stared at the closed door, and then he pressed his back to the wall and looked about him before taking a few cautious steps out onto the sidewalk. 

Roth could see the boy _had_ spotted them, but he still seemed hesitant. He paced up and down the sidewalk, a few yards in each direction, as if he couldn’t decide where to go, but then he seemed to realize the futility in it. He quickly ran across the street on bare feet. 

He had thunder in his eyes when he reached them and he still fisted his hands at his sides. “Just so you know. I hate you. I fucking _hate_ you both,” he said. 

Nickel only sighed and shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Roth growled. “Just shut that dirty mouth of yours and get your ass in the car!” He opened the back door. 

The boy looked like he wanted to bite him again, but he obeyed.


	4. And So They Brought Him Home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided that all chapters with less than 3000 words will be considered short chapters, and so all weeks where there is a short chapter, I will make a double post and put up the next chapter, as well, regardless of how long or short that one is. If the chapter up for posting the week after is over 3000 words, it will be posted alone.
> 
> This means there will be several double posts in the beginning, but since the chapters had a tendency to become longer the further the story progressed, double posts will be considerably rarer later on. 
> 
> /Fran

As he was driving, Nickel kept throwing glances in the rear view mirror at the boy in the backseat. Maybe it had been a bad idea to let the slave in the car completely unrestrained, after all. For the moment the boy seemed calm enough, though judging by the sulky expression and the slumped pose, he was as unhappy about the situation as before. However, Nickel thought he knew enough about this slave already to tell this stillness was no indication there wouldn’t be further sudden outbursts. Another fit of hysterical anger while driving could prove disastrous and the boy would probably not stop to think of the consequences.

Roth must be thinking the same, Nickel thought, glancing over to his friend beside him in the passenger seat. He seemed to be keeping an eye on the boy as well, and none of them was talking. 

They stopped for a red light and Nickel took the opportunity to further study the boy through the mirror. He’d taken one of the bigger cars today, and the slave looked so small against the large black leather seat. He _was_ just a frightened kid, wasn’t he?

Nickel had mixed emotions about his purchase. 

He hadn’t even been sure he had wanted to buy something today. He’d entertained the notion of getting himself a personal slave for some time, but even walking into the slave market he hadn’t actually yet decided if to get one, or not. He’d told himself he would only have a look about, and just in case he would find someone suitable, he’d seen to it there was an empty room prepared downstairs before he left. 

Nickel was quite sure he hadn’t found someone suitable. 

It wasn’t that he actually needed a personal slave in any case. There were plenty of house slaves at the Wren Mansion, who took care of everything indoors, and just as many outdoor workers who kept the gardens neat and the many cars oiled and polished. His chambermaid, Eve, put away his clothes properly in the closets and saw to it his room was always tidy and his bed made, while other maids served him his meals. Apart from this, he was quite capable of taking care of himself in the bath, or put on his own clothes, so, yes, he’d gotten along fine, for all of his twenty-six years, without a personal slave. 

Of course, many clan people had personal slaves they, strictly speaking, didn’t need. They were mostly a status symbol, an accessory, someone decorative to attend you at events and parties, a conversation piece at informal gatherings, and a pet in your private rooms back home. When he was younger, Nickel had frowned at the practice, regarding it as ‘showy’ and old-fashioned. He supposed having such views was as rebellious as he’d ever become, during his teenage ‘liberation process’ from his father and the old culture he stood for. 

However, lately he’d started to change his mind about it. 

Why wouldn’t he acquire a slave of his own? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. Hell, he could afford ten of them if he cared to have that many. It wasn’t that he wanted to show off, not really. It was only he’d been bored and a bit restless lately, and felt somewhat lonely. It would surely perk him up to have someone close by whenever he wanted to; someone he could teach to conform to his habits and chat a little with. It would give him something to do, and take his mind off things. 

He could of course have chosen one of the house slaves to elevate to such a status, but none of them was especially appealing to him. Nickel wanted to see someone new and different around him, someone good-looking. Not that he actually _planned_ to make a bed slave out of whomever he ended up acquiring, but there was no reason to choose someone who wasn’t easy on the eyes. 

Nickel cast yet another glance at the boy through the rear view mirror. He’d gotten one thing right this morning. This slave was easy on the eyes, all right, if not on the ears. In fact, his looks might be the only good thing about him, which started to worry Nickel. The boy was a registered exotic, but so far, he didn’t act like one. When Nickel had thought finding a slave to train as his attendant would be a fun way to pass the time, this was not quite what he’d had in mind. 

Maybe the trader had been right and the boy was mentally disturbed, or even dangerous. Surely, he should listen to Roth in any case. His bodyguard was knowledgeable on matters of security, after all, and Roth had been doubtful about this purchase. If this slave turned out to be detrimental to the order of the house or anyone’s safety, his father would not be happy. 

Nickel had to admit it was likely he’d made a rash decision. 

Well, what could he say? He’d simply felt so sorry for the boy. Yes, he was shocked at how the slave had acted and spoken. He would never have stood for even a fraction of this kind of behavior from a slave back home. Insolence, disrespect, resistance or disobedience, either in action, or in words, was simply not something he tolerated. This boy’s behavior had been so over the top, though, so unlike anything he’d ever encountered before. Instead of putting him off, it had made him want to find out what could possibly be behind such behavior in any slave, let alone an exotic. 

Besides, the trader would have _put him down_. 

Nickel knew very well how the authorities, or licensed slave traders, handled problematic slaves, that is to say, they didn’t handle them at all. They simply exterminated them. Problem solved. This boy didn’t deserve such a horrible fate. He had thought he could see fear and depression behind that self-destructive anger. Nickel had wanted to reach out to such a desperate soul, trapped inside this ‘wildcat’, as Roth had put it. 

Surely, in a less stressful environment, Nickel would soon be able to reach him. The boy would understand he was safe, and he’d come to his senses. Then the redhead would only need a bit of ‘polish’ to make an excellent attendant and personal slave. 

Nickel’s optimism might not be fully genuine, but he couldn’t return the slave, so he had to take responsibility for his actions, do the best of the situation, and give the boy a chance. If the slave proved impossible, as the trader had claimed, then he would figure out how to deal with it later. 

In the meantime, Nickel had better not tell his father. He’d sort the boy out first, and then he would present a well behaved and pretty exotic as his personal attendant, that the Wren clan’s Head Lord would surely approve of.

\-----o0o-----

Finally free of the traffic jams of the inner city and being out of the suburbs Nickel stepped on the gas, enjoying the smaller and mostly empty roads leading out to the mansion.

Roth and he started small talking about this and that on the way, but Nickel kept throwing glances at the slave in the backseat. The redhead’s whole demeanor changed the farther outside the city they got. For the moment, it looked like the boy had forgotten to be angry as he made big eyes and stared fixatedly out the car window, mouth open. Had he never seen nature before? 

The Wren estate was located twelve miles outside the city limits, in a beautiful landscape of old woods and seemingly endlessly rolling fields, and Nickel supposed it was possible the slave had never been this far before. 

Nickel turned off at the long oak tree avenue leading up to the open main gate of the mansion and stopped the car in front the house. Bruno, the slave who was in charge of the garage, as well as occasionally functioning as his chauffeur, was already waiting to take the car away, obviously having heard them arrive. 

Roth opened the backdoor and told the redheaded boy to get out. 

The chauffeur didn’t seem to take any notice of his master’s new acquisition, Nickel noted. That was as it should be, he supposed. Slaves should have no opinions on their master’s shopping. Bruno’s seemingly complete lack of curiosity still puzzled him. It wasn’t every day the clan brought a new slave here, after all. Nickel couldn’t even remember when it had happened last. Well, Bruno was a trustworthy slave, and capable at his job, but, like most of the workers, quite dull. 

The new boy’s equal disinterest in the slave who was taking the car away was more understandable. Clearly, his new surroundings distracted him. He looked up along the white plastered stonewalls in front of him, his jaw dropping. “Holy _fuck_!” he said. 

“Do you know _any_ words that aren’t four lettered?” Roth remarked.

The boy ignored him, staring at the large coat of arms above the main entry. 

It was carved out of sandstone, and though it was somewhat eroded by time and weather, you could still clearly see the relief of the tiny unassuming bird that had given the clan its name, its wing pierced through by a thorn, a stylized drop of blood dripping from the point. Nickel debated with himself if this was a good time to tell the boy where he was, and who had bought him, but decided against it. He’d better take the slave downstairs to his room first, let him rest, and talk to him later. 

They walked around the house to the back entry, and through to one of two corridors behind the kitchens and maintenance areas downstairs. Both corridors had a row of doors along each side, leading to rooms occupied by the house slaves, as well as to a few toilets and bathrooms they shared. The rooms were small and simply furnished, with a few beds, a table, and a closet, but they were well insulated and each space had a window. Not all estates would provide such good living conditions for their house slaves. 

At the end of each of these corridors, there was a slightly bigger room, usually preserved for a trusty, and the only space with its own bathroom. The female Head Cook, who was also in charge of delegating work to the maids and stocking the pantry, occupied the end room in the other corridor. This end room had been empty for a while.

It had seemed an appropriate space to put his new slave, at least for the time being. Of course, such a slave he would eventually keep closer at hand, upstairs. For now, though, this would be the redhead’s new home, signaling clearly to the other slaves he wasn’t fully elevated as the master’s attendant yet, but was still above them. 

So far, the boy had made no trouble. Maybe his new surroundings still stunned him? Nickel led the way and Roth followed at the rear, the slave walking silently between them. However, he tensed visibly as they reached their destination and Nickel opened his door for him. 

“It’s not a cell,” Nickel explained, noting his apprehension. This will be your room. You’ll have a proper bed, and your own bathroom, too.”

The slave didn’t seem convinced and made no move to enter, suspiciously peeking inside. “It’s a fucking cell,” he argued. “It has bars.”

Nickel’s patience started to wear thin. What was he doing, arguing with a slave, letting him talk back; coaxing him like this? Still, he tried again. “The bars on the window are only to keep possible burglars out,” he explained, which wasn’t a lie, though they could of course serve the purpose the boy was alluding to, as well. “It’s just a normal room. See? There are no chains in here. Yes, the door only locks from the outside, but as long as you behave; I have no reason to lock it. If it makes you feel better we can leave it wide open.” 

He walked inside the room to show there was nothing threatening about it. He smiled and waved to the boy to join him. “You have to sleep somewhere, haven’t you? Come and have a look!” 

The boy warily stepped over the threshold. “You’re not gonna lock the door?” he said. “Yeah, right. You’re not gonna like cuff me or anything? You think I’m gonna fucking believe you’re just gonna let me loose around here?”

“As long as you behave,” Nickel repeated, “yes, then why wouldn’t I?”

“`Cause I could run away from this fucking shit place anytime I want,” the boy yelled.

Nickel sighed. He couldn’t believe the slave was this naïve. He must only be trying to provoke them still. “It would probably be rather easy to simply walk out of here, yes,” he agreed. “Tell me, when you have done so, where will you go?” 

The boy turned red and kicked at a rickety old wooden chair that happened to be the closest thing to him, making it crash to the floor. 

Oh, he knows, Nickel thought. The fact was, there wasn’t anywhere to go, and it was usually more effective than chains to keep all, but the most desperate slaves, right where they were. 

Nickel ignored the angry kick and the overturned chair. He turned to open the bathroom door. “Come look at your bathroom,” he said, renewing his efforts not to let the boy get to him. He’d made it this far, damn if the boy was going to succeed now. “It has a tub. I’m sure you can’t wait to get out of those awful rags and have a nice long warm bath.”

“You wanna get my clothes off?” the boy yelled. “Fucking pervert _faggot_. You wanna shove your fucking cock down my throat. You wanna fuck me, just fucking _do_ it!”

“What the hell…” Roth exclaimed from the doorway. 

Nickel was flabbergasted. What on earth had brought this on?

Their stunned silence seemed to anger the boy even more. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he yelled louder. “Just fucking get to it! That’s what you want, ain’t it? Like I could stop you anyway, you fucking _shitheads_.” 

When Nickel still did or said nothing the boy unexpectedly turned around, pulled his pants down and mooned him. “Just fucking fuck me, already,” he screamed. 

Nickel was still too shocked to react, but Roth seemed to have had enough of this circus. He strode into the room, grabbed the boy by the arm, spun him around and smacked his bared ass with the flat of his hand. The slap was by no means a light one. The boy fell headlong onto the bed at the impact, letting out a surprised yelp, speedily turning around to glare at them furiously. 

“You open that filthy mouth again; I’ll plant the next one in your face.” Roth warned and raised his hand over the boy.

Nickel finally snapped out of it. He quickly got between them and simply shoved his angry bodyguard out of the room, slammed the door shut, and locked it. 

First, there was complete silence, but then the boy started to scream and yell, and bang on the door. 

“That scrawny kid won’t be able to break this door down,” Roth said, seemingly his own gathered self again. “I hope he realizes that before he hurts himself.” 

There were a few seconds of silence, and then a large crash shook the door. 

Nickel instinctively jumped back. “Goodness!”

“…and there goes the chair,” Roth said.

“You said you wouldn’t lock the fucking door, you lying son of a _bitch_,” the boy yelled through the door

“I said, I wouldn’t lock it if you _behaved_,” Nickel shouted in reply. “You didn’t exactly behave, now did you?”

There was no reply from behind the door. 

“It’s your own room you’re demolishing,” Nickel said loudly. “By all means, make a mess, but you still have to live in it. I suggest you take that bath, and I’ll come back later to check on you.”

There were further angry screaming, and banging on the door at these words, but neither Nickel, nor Roth, was listening to it anymore. They had left.


	5. A Borrowed Name

Nickel returned to the slave’s quarters downstairs a few hours later, alone. 

Roth had gone home, but he’d left with a word of warning, reminding him what the trader had said about ‘lacking inhibitions’. Nickel had dismissed the warning with a laugh, but now, as he stood outside the boy’s door, he wasn’t so confident. 

Surely, there were no risks? Yes, the boy had been yelling and carrying on, as well as struggling fiercely and resisting them, but that was different from actually attacking someone, wasn’t it? Nickel was still convinced the boy had been scared, not aggressive. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was completely helpless here. Nickel could defend himself. He might be neither tall nor bulky, not like Roth, who was an impressively well-built man, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He was bigger than the redhead was in any case. It was simply silly to hesitate at the door. 

Nickel still peered inside with a bit of caution when he finally did open it. 

The boy had withdrawn to the bathroom, judging from the sound of running water, and the bedroom was empty. He’d not been able to resist a bath after all then. Nickel was relieved. The boy had rather smelled.

He sighed at the sight of the broken chair, pushed the remnants aside with his foot, and walked inside. Luckily, it seemed the slave had not broken anything else. He sat down on the bed to wait. 

Normally, Nickel wouldn’t have tolerated waiting for a slave like this, but he didn’t want to startle the boy. Considering the earlier reaction, surprising him naked in the bath might not be a good idea. 

The boy took long to come out and when he finally did, he went to stand as far away from his new master as he was able to, demonstratively looking away. Nickel had seen to it there would be a robe in the bathroom, and the boy was dressed in it. The white terry bathrobe was too big on him and only his face and toes were showing. He held it about him as if he expected Nickel to pounce at him, and tear it off. 

Not until then did it dawn on Nickel he’d bought a slave without properly looking him over, and he realized how neatly he’d been distracted from demanding a bodily inspection as any sensible person buying a slave would. Well, Nickel wasn’t overly worried. The boy’s face and hair alone was worth a much higher price than he’d paid, and, apart from obviously being a bit on the small side, he couldn’t believe his body would be much worse. 

His hair, yes… The slave had obviously washed it, it hung over his shoulder and dripped water on the floor, but unfortunately, he’d braided it again. Nickel was disappointed; he had wanted to see it loose and flowing. Well, there was plenty of time for such things later. For now, he’d rather not pressure the boy. 

“I see you couldn’t resist a bath, after all,” he said, taking care to smile amiably. “I guess it’s been a while? You look so much better. Are you hungry? I’ll see to it that…”

“I don’t want anything from _you_,” the boy yelled. “Leave me the fuck alone!” 

For the first time, Nickel was angry. In spite of the slave’s horrible behavior, he’d remained understanding and patient, but it seemed he couldn’t suggest the most innocent things without setting the boy off. Nickel knew it was beneath him, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt at the slave’s complete lack of gratitude. He’d saved his life, for goodness sake. Shouldn’t that alone earn him at least a minimum of respect, regardless of what any free person could demand of a slave? 

He frowned deeply and got to his feet. “All right,” he said coldly. “Suit yourself. You can wait until supper. You want to be alone? Well, let’s see how you feel about it, after being locked up here all by yourself for a few weeks.” He reached for the door handle, but halted and spoke again. “If you think you’ll be able to scare me off with this atrocious behavior, boy, you’re sorely mistaken,” he said. “I’m a patient man, and I _will_ have my ways, sooner or later.” He turned his back on the boy and opened the door.

Nickel heard the boy move, and saw the raised arm out of the corner of his eye. Reflexes, developed during years of training, kicked in instinctively. He spun around, blocked the boy’s arm with his own, grabbed the other arm and flipped the slave around. With the boy’s arm pushed up along his back, Nickel pressed him face down on the bed, and put a knee to the small of his back, too, for good measure. 

His heart beat hard in his chest. Had the slave actually tried to attack him? Nickel didn’t want to believe it. However, he _had_ seen the boy raise his arm as if to strike him in the back or in the head, he couldn’t deny that. What else could the boy’s intentions have been? 

Nickel shook. If he acknowledged this, then the boy was doomed. There was no possible way his father would ever let him keep such a slave. Roth, too, would undoubtedly do anything in his power to make him return the boy. Would Roth call the authorities even? Nickel wasn’t sure. They had never discussed such a situation, because such behavior was of course unthinkable. 

He was only slowly aware of the boy yelling underneath him, and he realized the screams were of pain this time, not anger. In his shock, Nickel was holding the slave too hard, bending his arm brutally upward between his shoulder blades. 

Nickel loosened the grip, and the slave seized the chance and started to struggle fiercely. He managed to jerk his arm free, clawed at the bedcover and kicked out to get away. Nickel tried to get a better grip, but only managed to get hold of the bathrobe, pulling it down as the boy tried to crawl away from him. The boy’s shoulders and upper back lay bare before him. 

“Jesus _Christ_!” Nickel gasped. He let go of the robe and stepped back.

The slave sprang up from the bed and frantically gathered the robe tightly again. 

Nickel had never seen anything like it. There had been a morbid weave of scars, starkly displayed against the boy’s milky skin. A myriad of finer pale pink lines between several thicker, dark red, or purplish, raised scars. Had his buttocks been similarly marked? Nickel tried to remember, but Roth had intervened so quickly and he’d been so surprised that the boy had rudely mooned him, he couldn’t tell. What did the rest of him look like? 

“What on earth happened to you?” Nickel finally managed. 

“My last master fucking punished me,” the boy yelled in reply. “What the fuck do you think happened?”

“That- That’s _not_ how we punish slaves here,” Nickel said, more than upset. His last master had done this, destroyed an exotic in such a way? What kind of man would treat a slave this age so brutally? How could anyone do this to _any_ slave, and how could the slave trader not have mentioned this? 

Nickel carefully neared the boy. “Would you let me have a look at that?” he said. “I need to see how bad it is. You might need a doctor.”

The grip of the robe tightened. “No!” the boy yelled, desperation in his whole demeanor. “Don’t look at me! Go away! Don’t look at me! Please.”

There was no chance Nickel would _not_ let the clan’s family doctor take a look at that, but he still backed away. “We have to have you examined,” he explained, trying against hope to reason with the boy. “It’s for your own good. Unhealed wounds can fester if they’re not treated. You have to show me.” 

Nickel expected another outburst, but instead there was pleading. 

“Please, don’t,” the boy begged. “Please, Master, I ain’t got any wounds, I promise. It’s like old stuff. Ain’t anything infected. I ain’t lying, I swear.”

Nickel was still worried, but he didn’t try to force the matter. The slave was probably telling the truth. If his former master had done that, then the scars were likely not recent. The trader might have ordered the boy disciplined and chained, and the guards might have slapped him around as he resisted them, but no sane trader would permanently scar their own merchandise. No, it must be as the boy said. 

He sat down on the bed again. Nickel would call Dr. Cordeaux, but it could probably wait a few days. The boy might have calmed down by then. He seemed more reasonable already, saying ‘please’ and ‘master’, and not yelling at him. For the moment, he would try to pretend he wasn’t upset and worried about what he’d seen, and talk to the boy about something unrelated instead. If some kind of trust could be established between them, the boy would surely be less unwilling to reveal the state of his body, and Nickel wouldn’t have to resort to the unpleasantness of using physical force.

“All right,” he said. “I believe you. We’ll take you to a doctor another day. I won’t force you to undress if isn’t necessary.” He smiled. “Let’s talk a little instead.”

“Talk? What about?” The slave said, looking both confused and suspicious.

“Well,” Nickel said. “I’d like to know your name, for example.” 

The room fell dead silent. The boy looked away and kept pulling the robe tighter. “Just call me what the _fuck_ you want!” he yelled. “What the fuck do I care?”

Nickel frowned. It had been going so well, and then the boy started to yell and curse again, seemingly for no reason at all. Why would such an innocent question set the boy off? He started to fear there _was_ something mentally wrong with the slave. It was high time he started to reprimand the boy for his behavior in any case. “There’s no reason, slave, to ever speak in such a rude manner, to anyone, for simply asking your name,” he said. “Now, what is it?”

The boy still looked away. “I don’t have one, okay? I don’t fucking have a damn name.”

“What do you mean?” Nickel said. 

“I told you, I just don’t. If I ever had, I don’t remember.”

Nickel’s anger faded. “But, your former owners must have called you _something_?”

“Yeah, like ‘Filth’ and ‘Ugly Fuck’ and ‘Retard and ‘Piece of Shit’ and ‘Fucking Worthless _Cunt_’.” The boy went on as if he was ranting to himself, his eyes anywhere but on his owner. “My first master, that fucking fat bastard, he called me ‘Radish’! He was fucking laughing at it all the time. It was, like, so fucking funny, and the other one, he- he just named me ‘Whore’. Fucking _Whore_. So, you can just take your fucking pick and call me what the hell you want!” He swallowed and gulped as if he was trying hard not to start to cry.

Nickel was overwhelmed with compassion and didn’t know what to say. The boy’s reaction, though still unacceptably rude, didn’t seem so mysterious anymore. Not letting a slave keep a name, that wasn’t right. Being nameless for so many years, what would that do to you? Nickel couldn’t imagine. “I see,” he said, trying to find the right words. “You’re not any of those things, boy, and those men should be ashamed of themselves, calling you such horrible names. If you don’t have a proper name, I’ll give you one. What would you like to be called?”

“What the fuck you ask _me_ for?” the boy said with a snarl. “You’re fucking making fun of me?”

Nickel shook his head. “I am most certainly not making fun of you.”

The slave looked confused. “Uh… I never thought about it. No one ever asked. How the hell should I know?”

Nickel thought about it in the boy’s stead then, and suddenly it just came to him. Of course. He smiled. “How about ‘Taven’,” he said. “How would you like to be called ‘Taven’?” 

The boy looked as suspicious as ever. “T- Taven?”

“Yes! It’s a nice name, isn’t it? I should explain. It’s my younger brother’s name, but he’s not… He’s not with us anymore. My brother passed away, as a child, when we were both children, and… Well, Taven was such a generous boy, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded. If he could look down on us, I think he would like it if someone borrowed his name. If it made someone happy, he wouldn’t have minded at all. What do you say?”

The boy only stared at him.

“I think it suits you,” Nickel continued. “Of course, you don’t look anything like him, but he was also quite the stubborn person, and… Well, don’t you like it?” 

The boy still stared unblinkingly at him. “You’re, like, saying you’re gonna call me what your _brother_ was called?” he finally managed.

Nickel nodded with a serious expression. 

The boy looked down at his feet and started to twist the wet braid around his fingers. “…told you, you can call me whatever you want, and all that,” he murmured. 

“Excellent,” Nickel said. “Taven it is, then.” He got to his feet. “Well, I can see you’re tired, and in spite of what you claimed earlier, you must be hungry as well. I’ll let you rest, and one of the maids will bring you a tray for lunch. Will you be all right on your own?”

The boy nodded vigorously without looking up. Nickel had the distinct feeling he desperately wanted to be alone and would probably agree to anything if his new master only left. Nickel supposed this _was_ rather much to take in all at once. 

“All right,” he said, reaching for the door handle for the second time. “I’ll leave you be. I do think you should know where you are. These are the estates of the Wren clan. My name is Nickel. I’m the heir, and next in line for the Head Lord title.”

The boy didn’t react to this at all. He was either hard to impress, Nickel thought, or, more likely, had no idea whatsoever what that meant. “Well, I’ll explain to you later,” he said. “Now, get some rest!” Nickel slipped out the door, and closed it behind him. After some hesitation, he locked it again. 

He remained outside for a moment, putting his ear to the door. Would the boy – _Taven_, he reminded himself – have another angry fit, or break something else?

However, all he heard was the unmistakable sounds of a miserably weeping child.


	6. A Talk in the Skeet Shooting Field

Nickel and Roth were taking advantage of the nice spring weather, skeet shooting at a field near the mansion, a sport his bodyguard had tried for the first time only a couple of years ago, at Nickel’s insistence.

His bodyguard, and friend, came from a distinctly different background than himself. Roth was a commoner, working class, and had grown up in the infamous South End, where he also still lived. It was the 'bad part' of the city, where such sports as skeet shooting was practically unheard of. In spite of this, Roth’s skill had soon surpassed his boss’, even though Nickel had done this since he was a small boy.

He wasn’t bothered, or envious. Roth worked in security; of course, he would be an expert shooter. Nickel had never been a particularly competitive person in any case. This was mostly a relaxing pastime for him, an opportunity to be social, chat and banter. They still had this friendly ongoing competition, where the only prize was ‘glory and honor’. Such a context seemed to motivate Roth much more than it did him.

This lack of a competitive nature had worried his father when he grew up, and Nickel suspected he would still be slightly disappointed. 

The clans traditionally encouraged their young sons to pursue suitable athletic endeavors. His father had pushed Nickel and his brother to try out a number of ‘clan approved’ sports and activities from an early age. Nickel had hated most of it, and soon refused to go. While Taven had enjoyed the rough and tumble of team sports, Nickel had loathed tackling and having hard balls thrown at him. He hadn’t liked the bullying of the locker rooms either. He’d tried fencing, but, again, didn’t like the competitiveness. Horseback riding had proven a disaster. He’d found the large unpredictable animals terrifying. Hunting was out of the question. The mere thought of killing an innocent animal made him feel sick, and he preferred not eating them either. 

Nickel had still enjoyed learning to use a hunting rifle, and was fairly decent with it. Skeet shooting was one of the few activities pushed onto him in childhood that he’d kept with. 

It wasn’t until Nickel, as a ten year old, had managed to talk his father into letting him try out different kinds of martial arts, though, that he’d found his ‘cup of tea’. The sense of personal development with the sport, physical as well as mental, had appealed to Nickel and he’d been training regularly since. He’d never competed, though he had had the opportunity to in school. The way he saw things, his training was only between himself and his body. 

His father had been hard to convince at first. Martial arts were not a set of activities that was a traditional choice among the clans, but eventually he’d changed his mind. He’d been worried when his oldest son didn’t show the same kind of inclination for competitive sports as his younger son, and had come to a point where he’d approved of anything that could save Nickel from growing into a ‘weak namby-pamby’ as he, no doubt, had feared, even if he’d never expressed it in such a way. 

Well, at least when it came to that, his father’s worries had come to naught. Nickel might not be a big man at 5’9” and 150 pounds, but he was lean and sinewy, agile as a cat, and much stronger than anyone might think only looking at him. In the end, his father had been pleased, thinking the self-defense nature of the sport could also be useful. 

A few days ago, the self-defense aspect _had_ proven useful, though this was something Nickel intended to never tell his father about. Neither had he told Roth. 

“So,” Roth asked, finishing his first round, not having missed a single target. “What’s up with that redheaded little demon you bought then?” 

They hadn’t had a chance to talk properly since they had brought the slave to the mansion four days ago, and Roth would be curious, Nickel supposed, though he didn’t know how to answer the question. 

“I’m not sure,” he replied truthfully. “After you left, I went back to talk to him shortly, but I haven’t seen him since.”

Roth looked surprised. “No? How come?”

“Well, you saw how upset and confused he was,” Nickel said. “I thought maybe it would be for the best if I let him come to terms with being sold, before I started to demand things of him. I’m in no hurry, after all. I decided to leave him alone for the time being, and have the maids bring him food only. I thought, if they eventually left the door unlocked, he would soon come out by himself and ask around about things. So far, though, the maids tell me, he hasn’t set foot outside his room once.”

It wasn’t the only reason Nickel had kept away from his new acquisition. He had needed the time himself, to think things over. The moment when the slave had raised a hand to strike him kept playing back in his head. He probably shouldn’t keep a slave who would do such a thing, he knew. He still felt highly reluctant to acknowledge what had happened. Nickel wasn’t a hundred percent sure he hadn’t misinterpreted the situation somehow. Condemning someone to certain death on such loose premises wasn’t something he could find it in himself to do. 

If he never told anyone, no one would ever know, and the boy would surely not do such a thing again, not when he’d had a chance to calm down, and understand he was safe and in a good home. 

“He’ll come around eventually,” Roth said. “He’ll get bored.”

Nickel nodded and prepared to shoot his round, picking up a box of shotgun shells. “How’s your arm?” he asked while he walked over to the first station. 

“My arm? Oh, the bite? It’s fine, Nickel. I told you not to worry about it. It wasn’t deep, and I didn’t even get rabies, or anything.” He grinned. “I’ve checked it up, I’ll be fine.”

Nickel smiled back, but soon turned serious again. “You wouldn’t report it to the authorities, would you?”

“Nah!” Roth said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Because if you did…”

“I know,” Roth interrupted. “That redhead is _one_ annoying kid, if you ask me, but I don’t want him dead. A bite is not a fucking capital offence. Besides, he wasn’t really attacking us, was he? I don’t think he was levelheaded enough to even think of that, in the hysterical state he was in, know what I mean. I don’t know what he thought we were going to do to him, but he was just trying to defend himself, right? I know, I know, they’d kill a slave for that, too. Self defense… Not allowed, right? Well, in _my_ book it is. Don’t worry, Nickel, I wouldn’t call the authorities for a thing like that.” 

Nickel nodded, relieved. Unless it happened again, he would forget the incident in the slave’s room, and not tell anyone. It wasn’t as if he was in real danger in any case. Whatever the boy’s intentions, it had been a very clumsy attempt. 

“I’d still like an apology,” Roth said.

Nickel nodded. “He won’t get away with it,” he promised.

“Good!” Roth said. He seemed to hesitate, but then he spoke again. “It’s not that it’s that important to me, but if you don’t mind me being honest with you, I do think you were too soft on the boy, the way he behaved. He might have been scared, but it’s not an excuse for everything he said and did. I’d say that slave is in great need of being taught his place, for his own good.”

“He needs a beating, you mean?” Nickel answered, frowning.

“I didn’t say that.” Roth sighed. ”I know what you think about corporal punishment, Nickel, and I agree. He’s not gonna become a better person if you beat the crap out of him. Sure, you can break him into compliance, using enough violence, but… No, I _do_ agree with you, it isn’t that. Still, letting him get away with things isn’t the way to go either. A few slaps never killed anyone, you know.”

Nickel felt a need to defend himself. “I have no intentions of letting him get away with things in the future, Roth. As you said yourself, he was hysterical. Besides, I’ve never seen such behavior in my life. I didn’t get the wits about me to react the way I probably should have, and the way he tried to provoke us… I didn’t want him to succeed, that’s all.”

Roth smiled at him. “I understand,” he said. “I was quite baffled myself.”

Nickel wasn’t sure Roth did understand, but he couldn’t shoot and try to formulate his thoughts at the same time. He walked away from the shooting station, sat down on an old tree stump at the side of the skeet field, and put the shotgun on his lap. “If it isn’t absolutely necessary,” he said, “I’d prefer not to resort to violent means at all, including slaps. There must be other ways. Do you remember when you first started working for me? This police officer you knew asked you to temporarily take care of an abused dog, until he found a home for it?”

“Yeah, of course I remember,” Roth said. “The cat didn’t forgive me for weeks.” He chuckled.

Nickel remained serious. “That dog was growling and snapping at your fingers, but eventually it learned you weren’t going to hurt it, like its former owner. It wasn’t growling at you because it was evil, but because it was scared, and previous experiences told it you could be dangerous. You didn’t hurt or punish it for being scared, you patiently remained firm, but caring. Eventually, it started to trust you.”

Roth nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, I see your point, and it’s a good one, too. It’s not a bad analogy. That slave was abused, obviously, and was probably only acting on his experiences. It’s still not a perfect analogy. Dogs and humans aren’t the same kind of creature, you know. Humans are not only instincts and reactions. They act with deliberation, they plan, they hold a grudge, and, yes, they can be evil. Whatever happened to the boy is sad, but it doesn’t make him an innocent animal. You should be careful not to think about him as one.” 

“I realize it’s not quite the same thing,” Nickel admitted. “But it _is_ horrible, the way he’s been treated.”

“He told you things?” Roth asked.

Nickel hesitated. He wanted to tell Roth about the scars, but for some reason decided not to, maybe because the boy himself had seemed so ashamed. “Only that none of his previous owners ever let him have a real name. Can you imagine such a thing, Roth, going your whole life, unnamed?”

“No, I can’t say I know what that would be like,” Roth admitted. “Did you give him a name then?”

“I did, yes. I said I’d call him ‘Taven’.”

Roth raised his eyebrows, and stared at him. 

That would surprise his friend, Nickel supposed. 

Roth was well aware of this part of his family history. Nickel and his younger brother had been only two years apart, and very close, in spite of their different personalities. Nickel had been well behaved, quiet, and enjoyed reading books in his room. Taven had been the wild and unafraid one, always getting himself in trouble. It had been hard on everybody to watch such a lively boy slowly succumb to cancer. Nickel had been thirteen years old at the time of his brother’s passing, and maybe he didn’t think of Taven every hour of every day anymore, but in some aspects, his death wasn’t something he thought he would ever get over. 

The most acute pain had still faded in time, and Nickel usually didn’t find it difficult to talk about his brother. He’d told his new friend early on. 

“Oh,” Roth finally said. “Did you tell him where the name comes from?”

“I explained it to him, yes,” Nickel answered.

Roth only gave him an odd look. 

“You don’t think a slave like him deserve the name?” Nickel asked. He started to wonder if maybe he’d made another rash decision.

“It depends,” Roth said. “How did he react to it?”

Nickel looked up at Roth where he sat. “He cried, Roth. He wept miserably. I think he might have been touched.”

“Really? That angry kid? He broke down crying, right in front of you?”

Nickel shook his head. “No, I listened at the door after I’d left.”

Roth smiled.”Now, that I believe,” he said.

“He also told me,” Nickel continued, “that his last owner, before me, simply called him ‘Whore’. What does that tell you?” 

Roth took his time replying. “I’d say he’s been sexually abused,” he finally said. “The way he carried on, I’ve kinda figured that out already. Probably started early on. It isn’t exactly uncommon, Nickel. Judging from that accent of his, he’s obviously been raised in the South End, and down there, that’s how some people make their living.”

“I know,” Nickel said. “I know it happens, but it disgusts me how some people can’t seem to keep off the children. Can’t they at least wait until they’re of age? And then to call him ‘Whore’, as if it was _his_ fault.” 

Nickel worked himself up only thinking about it. He knew, technically speaking, there could be no such thing as an age of consent for a slave. However, fifteen was the age of consent for free people, and it made sense to him to keep above that age with slaves as well, even if there were no legal requirements. It would simply be the tasteful thing to do. What was the appeal in a small child, anyway? Nickel couldn’t understand. 

“It’s _disgusting_,” he repeated.

“Well, you’re not going to get any disagreement from me,” Roth said. “They’ve probably damaged the poor kid for life.”

Nickel looked up at Roth in dismay. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms before, but his friend might be correct. If that was true, then what was he suppose to do with this slave? No. Nickel shook the ominous feeling. Surely, there were things he could do to help the boy –_Taven_, he reminded himself – and he would start with trying to find out more about his background. 

“Roth,” he asked. “Would you consider doing a bit of research for me on someone?” 

Before Roth had made a career change and started to work for him, he’d been a private investigator. Roth was good at researching information, finding people, and similar things. Even though that life was behind him, he would surely not mind looking into a few things for him. 

“Well,” Roth said, “it depends on what it’s about, but I suppose I can try. What do you want to know?” 

Nickel smiled. “Thanks! Do you remember how the slave trader insinuated Taven had something to do with his first master’s death? I didn’t believe a word, but I’d still like to get to the bottom of it, if it’s at all possible.”

Roth nodded. “Sure thing, Boss,” he said, grinning at him. “It shouldn’t be all that difficult. Oh, and, Nickel, it _is_ your round, remember? If you’re just going to sit there with the shotgun on your lap, I’m gonna win this far too easily for my tastes.”

“Oh yeah?” Nickel grinned and got up from the tree stump. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” 

Truth be told, Nickel was more satisfied with the talk than the game now, but he’d fake a little competitiveness to make his friend happy.


	7. The New Master

He sat on the bed, in the corner, arms around his knees, staring at the tray in front of him. 

As he’d broken the chair, he wasn’t using the small table for his meals; he sat down cross-legged on the bed instead, and put the tray on the covers. Sitting down properly to eat wasn’t something he was used to anyway, and the bed was definitely better than the floor. There was nothing left on the plates, he’d literally licked them clean, and he was so full he felt vaguely nauseated. He still wished the plates would magically refill. 

Never in his life had anyone given him food this good, and there was so much of it, too. Plates full, only for him. The first time, he’d eaten until he threw up, but now he wrapped any leftovers in toilet paper and hid it under the bed. Who knew when the trays would stop coming? So far, though, they’d brought him food several times a day. 

Fucking unbelievable. 

Nice food was far from the only thing that seemed too good to be true about this place. Yeah, his new owner had locked the door, and there were bars on the window, but he’d been put in worse places. He had to admit it was a nice room. The walls were painted bright white, the wooden floor was clean, and there was a real bed in here, with actual bed linen, and a pillow. There was even a closet with some clothes in it. He was still dressed in the pants and shirt from the slave market, though, dirty and smelly as they were. Some of the clothes in the closet were for girls, and the mens’ clothes were too big. Obviously, it wasn't for him. 

The bathroom was still the best. Not that he had had good experiences with bathrooms in the past, but this was different. No one seemed to be checking up on what he did in there, and he’d been able to use the hot water as much as he liked. It was luxury beyond imagination, and though he understood it couldn’t last, he intended to take advantage of it for as long as he possibly could. 

No one seemed to be keeping an eye on him overall. There were only these women, all dressed in the same gray dresses and white aprons, bringing him food. However, they just walked inside, put a tray on the table, grabbed the old one, and left. They never came alone. There was always some guy, too, waiting in the door, as if they thought he would attack them, or something. 

Fucking bastards. 

He hadn’t tried to talk to any of them. When anyone walked inside he stubbornly looked away, or simply slipped into the bathroom and closed the door in their faces. Perhaps it was different slaves every time, or maybe it was just the few who kept returning. He’d never cared to take note. 

There were plenty of them in this house, though. Early in the morning, he could hear them. There was a lot of running in the corridor outside, doors opening and slamming shut, voices, murmurs, laughter, angry shouts… Then – silence, as the rooms emptied of people. He’d seen others walk past his window, too, or rather, their legs, since the room was in the basement and the window at ground level. 

No one had tried to talk to him either, and he was relieved about that. He wasn’t used to other slaves and wouldn’t know what the fuck to say to them anyway. In the South End, free people didn’t have this damn many slaves. They didn’t need any to keep their shitty apartments, in their run down, shitty apartment buildings. There were better uses for the few slaves you could find down there. 

Which didn’t make him less confused about what someone like him was doing _here_.

That guy who had bought him; he was a rich guy. He hadn’t understood at first. Yeah, the man had had a big car, but that hadn’t tipped him off. He’d been taken to people in big cars before, and then they lived in a fucking dump, putting all their money in the car only. When he’d seen the house, though… This was a huge fucking house. It was a rich guy, all right. Some sort of lord even. 

Imagine that. 

Why would a man like that buy a slave like him? Oh, rich people, lords and shit, they bought exotics of course; he knew that, but only perfect ones. They wouldn’t buy a damaged one. The fucking bastard of a slave trader had told him that plenty of times, whining about being stuck with him. 

This particular rich lord, though, _had_ bought him, and he could think of only one reason why – to fuck and beat the shit out of him. 

The other slaves around here, they would do real work, right? You wouldn’t waste _them_ on such things. You paid a lot of money for an undamaged exotic; you wouldn’t just ruin them right away either. Sure, you could go to the South End, or wherever, and rent ‘a victim’ for the night. He should know; that’s exactly what he’d been used for, for the last four years. Those places must be too dirty and unsafe for a lord, though. People in the South End, they didn’t like the lords. He’d heard them shit talking them often enough.

However, if you were some rich bastard who wanted some cheap trash, that you could release all your inner sadistic urges on in the comfort of your own home… He would be just the slave. 

He stopped staring at the empty plates and hugged himself tighter, burying his face between his knees, feeling ever more nauseated. It wasn’t like the slave market had been a nice place, but it had still been fucking paradise compared to his former master. Most people down at the South End had treated him like shit, but the man who had actually owned him was particularly vicious. James Swift was a fucking sadist. He’d thought he would never get away from his former master alive, but since he had – through some kind of miracle – he had hoped not to be sold again to live through the same shit.

At the examination, the slave trader had only cast one look at him, and told him how unlikely it was he _would_ ever be able to sell him, but he’d still done his best to make it a sure thing. 

He hadn’t even tried to behave and had been a real ass. It wasn’t as if he had to fake it either. It was only a question of finding the courage to let go, and have all the inner hate and anger pour out as it pleased. With Swift, he hadn’t dared to, but the trader hadn’t been nearly as harsh. He’d taken full advantage of that.

The slave trader couldn’t keep him forever, though; he’d known that. Eventually the trader would be forced to get rid of him, one way, or the other. If he kept up the bad behavior, the trader would have had him killed sooner instead of later, and he’d told himself he was just fine with that. He’d found no good reason to live on anyway. 

Then that man had come, and damn if he understood what had happened. 

All he knew was that a weird asshole of a lord _had_ bought him. Considering how he’d behaved, that was nothing short of astonishing. He hadn’t even tried to be extra shitty. Things had just happened. When they’d taken him out of the cell, for example, he hadn’t meant to fight it. Biting the huge asshole who had accompanied his new master hadn’t been in the plans either. It was just he'd, sort of, panicked. 

Planned, or not, it hadn’t helped. He’d had to go with these men. 

A part of him had been relieved. Thinking you want to die is one thing, but when it was actually going to happen, for real, then you weren’t so brave, after all. He’d been convinced this time, the trader meant it. This time he was going to be put down, and he’d been so fucking scared he could have shitted himself. Yes, deep inside, he’d been relieved when his new owner had ignored his stupid yelling and taken him home. 

It hadn’t been long, though, before the man had reminded him of why it was better being dead, coldly informing his new slave he’d always ‘get his ways’. There had been no doubt in his mind what ‘ways’ the man had been talking about and he’d panicked again. The only way he could think of, to make his new owner return him, had been to attack him. 

Damn lot of good that had done him. 

Apparently, his new master had eyes at the back of his neck, and was frighteningly fast, too. He never even got close enough to touch the man, and before he knew it, he was face down on the bed and locked in a painful grip. Immobilized. This guy, he was much stronger than he looked, and a clumsy, skinny slave boy had been no match whatsoever. 

He shuddered. 

Then, somehow, the short glimpse of his ruined body had distracted his new master so much it seemed the man had simply forgotten what his new slave had tried to do. Already regretting the stupid attempt, Taven had been quick to play along. 

At the time, he hadn’t thought about how weird it was his new master had been so shocked at all, though. Wasn’t this what he wanted, something already so damaged he didn’t have to be careful with it? 

Well, that his new owner had seemed to ignore the attempted attack at the time didn’t mean he was safe now. The man hadn’t been back for days, but this didn’t mean shit either. Maybe he was only busy with other stuff, and it wasn’t as if his new slave was going anywhere. An owner could afford to wait with doling out punishment for as long as they damn well pleased. The man would know, too, of course, just how fucking horrible it was for a slave to be left to wait for what was to come. Swift had made it part of his punishment all the time, having him wait, imagining how bad it would be, and then make it even worse. It was the only kind of patience that sadist had.

He clutched at his stomach; he’d behaved so very, very badly. Cursed and yelled at them, spit the man in the face, called him things… He couldn’t imagine anything else than that the punishment would be horrific. Maybe his new owner would let that bodyguard beat him up. The man was pissed off about the bite, no doubt. Taven didn’t think he would survive that, considering how big the guy was. 

He regretted it all now, but… It was supposed to have scared them off buying him _at all_. He’d never thought he’d have to face the consequences in this way. Well, there was nothing he could do about it, unless he ended it himself. 

In a way, it was an almost comforting thought, making him feel he still had a small amount of power over his own life, after all. Anytime he wanted to, he told himself, he could break a glass from the tray and cut his wrists, or, make a noose out of the bathrobe sash and hang himself. Drowning himself in the tub would be an option, too, but… 

He knew he was too much of a fucking coward to go through with any of that. Making _them_ kill him instead had seemed less horrible. They’d shoot him, after all, and it would be fast and painless. Right? 

Well, provoking someone else into doing it for him didn’t seem to be an option anymore, not with this guy. So far, his new owner had simply completely ignored all such attempts. The man probably liked the resistance. For some people, slaves were just too submissive to be any fun. Most slaves were too fucking smart to mouth off as he did, or to panic and act like an idiot. Some men in his past _had_ clearly enjoyed fucking a slave who stupidly tried to fight it. 

So, he waited, bitter about the softest and cleanest bed he’d ever slept in, the wonderful food, the lack of chains, the peace and quiet, the warm water… Thinking about what was to come, he couldn’t enjoy any of it.

It would at least have been marginally easier to stand this fucking waiting if he knew better what to expect, but, in spite of his vivid and morbid imagination, he couldn’t say he did. 

He hadn’t forgotten _anything_ since the man had come to the slave market and many things didn’t make sense. He couldn’t stop thinking about those things any less than he could control his fears. It added confusion to despair in a nerve-wrecking way. Worst of all, it ignited this tiny, barely flickering, weak spark of hope deep down within him, and it was just the most dangerous thing a slave could ever allow himself to feel!

He still couldn’t stop thinking about how _nice_ his new owner had seemed.

The man had sounded as if he actually criticized the slave trader about beating and chaining him. He’d stopped his bodyguard from beating him, too, and he’d been angry when the trader’s guard had stepped on him. His new owner had said he wouldn’t hurt him, and, so far, he actually hadn’t. He’d talked mildly, and his hands had been so gentle washing his face, and careful when taking the chains off. If he thought about it, the man hadn’t seemed to enjoy his panicked resistance and desperate provocations either. There had been no smug smiles at his helpless anger; no gloating, or goading, only surprise. 

All of that was weird in and of itself, but it was nothing compared to the fact that his master had also given him a name. His _brother’s_ name.

If anyone would ask him, he wouldn’t be able to form into words what it was like being nameless, what it was like having no means to refer to himself. It was like, not existing. Oh, he knew he would still be nothing even with a name. He’d still be trash that didn’t matter to anyone and had no value, beyond his unusual hair. His past owners not naming him had only driven these facts home especially effectively. 

He guessed he could have thought up a name on his own, and kept it to himself, but why even bothering?

If his new owner had been serious, then he wasn’t nameless anymore. It was such a strange feeling, to be something, to be _someone_. In fact, it had completely overwhelmed him. When the man had finally left, he’d collapsed to the floor and bawled like a fucking baby. 

It was a cool name, too. He’d never heard it before, but it felt nice in his mouth. The last few days he’d spoken it hundreds of times, mostly in the bathtub, with the water running, so no one would hear him. He was trying to get used to it, trying to make the word connect in his head with some kind of inner idea of himself. 

Thinking of himself as ‘Taven’ still felt weird, but he liked it. He liked it so fucking much and he really, really hoped it wasn’t some kind of cruel joke. Would a free person make a joke of his own dead brother? He didn’t think so, and only because of this, he wanted to believe he really _had_ a name now. 

Still, he knew he shouldn’t trust any of it. It had happened before that people had acted all nice and kind, only to turn sadistic when he least expected it. It was like a funny game to some, he thought, making him think they would be gentle. They fucking got off on the added shock and hurt when they revealed their true selves a few minutes later. Well, it wasn't that easy to trick him these days. That had been before, when he was still a stupid kid. He knew better now.

Only, most free people wouldn’t drag it out like this, not over several days, and they would never have stood for just any provocation, the way his new owner had. He sure had never known a free man to pull his family into it, only to fuck with a slave. Family, that was like, holy to free people. Would this guy go to such lengths only to make fun of a worthless slave? If he did, he was just the biggest mind-fucking sadistic asshole ever, or maybe he wasn’t an asshole at all…

Could it be possible, that his new owner actually _was_ nice?

If he could only believe his new master wasn’t an evil bastard then things would be different, he told himself. He’d be good then, he would! He’d do anything to stay here; he’d behave, and be as fucking nice and submissive as the man could ever want. He knew how to do that, too. He did. 

He sighed. It was no use thinking about it, it was just impossible to tell what the fuck the man was like. Taven couldn’t figure his new master out, and so, for now, he did not intend to trust _anything_ he said or did.


	8. A Chance Meeting in the Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this time of year, many of you around the world are celebrating something, and it’s usually one of the bigger celebrations of the year. Here in Scandinavia we celebrate Jul (Yule) on December 24 (what would be Christmas Eve to many of you). As I’m up early in the morning preparing for family coming over to celebrate, I thought I’d forego my usual posting schedule to post an extra chapter on this day, only as a Yuletide gift to you all. The poor characters of my story might not have a good time, but I hope _you_ are all having a wonderful time, whether you celebrate something or not.
> 
> Normal posting schedule will resume on Sunday. 
> 
> Happy Holidays everybody!
> 
> /Fran

Taven wasn’t sure how many days had passed when he realized the door to his room was open. It just struck him one morning, after he’d been brought breakfast, that there was no sound of a lock clicking in place after the girl and the accompanying male had left. He’d stared at the door for the longest time, but then he’d got off the bed to try it. Taven had turned the handle and opened a small crack before speedily closing it again. 

It _was_ unlocked. 

First, he’d thought it was a mistake. They must have simply forgotten to lock it. He’d wondered just how badly their master would punish those slaves for their sloppiness, if he took advantage of it and slipped out, but it wasn’t the reason he remained. Taven soon noticed they didn’t lock the door later in the day either, bringing him lunch, or at the lighter evening meal. Okay, it wasn’t a mistake, but it could sure as hell still be a trap. Suspicion kept him from the door.

Besides, why would he _want_ to leave this room? It might just be a fancy cell, but it was nevertheless the best fucking place he’d ever stayed in. So far, he’d done nothing else than sleeping, eating and taking countless baths, but it was enough for him. In here, no one was watching him; no one touched him, beat him or called him things. Above all, no one was fucking him. He couldn’t remember ever having had a respite this long. Eventually his new master would come back, and it would all start up again, but why the hell would he invite any of it himself, by leaving this room? No, he wasn’t going anywhere, unlocked door or not.

Only, after a few more days he started to feel restless, in spite of himself. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. When you were too busy surviving, and spent the few precious moments to yourself trying to recover only, restlessness became a meaningless concept. However, staying here, he’d already slept so much he just wasn’t the least bit tired anymore, and his bruises had started to fade. He was plenty recovered. 

When he started to pace the small room thinking that maybe he could brush and re-braid his hair again, even though he just did it a few hours ago, then he finally understood. He was bored.

\-----o0o-----

Taven listened at the door before he slowly opened it, peeking outside into the corridor. When he was sure he could hear or see no one, he stepped over the threshold.

It was early, so early the sun wasn’t up yet. He thought it would still be an hour or two before the other slaves woke up. The creeping restless feeling had finally chased him outside, but he still didn’t want to risk running into people, and maybe feel forced to talk to someone. He’d only take a quick look around the place and be back in the relative safety of his room before the house stirred. 

He quickly scampered through the corridor on bare feet and ran up the few steps of stairs at the other end, where he halted abruptly and looked about. Taven had no idea whatsoever where in the house he actually was, and couldn’t remember the twists and turns they’d taken when his new owner and his bodyguard had brought him to this room. Sure, he could stroll around randomly, and check things out. Wherever he ended up would be new to him, and so, more interesting than his room. It was only he was afraid he wouldn’t find his way back. 

Well, he’d gotten this far, and it would be fucking stupid to chicken out now and go back to bed. He walked on, followed a long hallway, went down another flight of stairs and finally ended up in a huge kitchen area. 

Taven wouldn’t have minded snooping around in there, especially in the pantry, but he changed that plan quicker than quick when he discovered a man sleeping on a bench along the wall. Startled he stared at the sleeper. It was a bearded, scruffy looking, guy with a balding head and dirty, threadbare clothes. He’d placed his worn shoes under the bench, and used his own arm as a pillow. Was it one of the outdoor workers? Taven didn’t know, but the slave hadn’t woken up so he sneaked past him as fast and quietly as he could. He slipped out the first door he could spot, and… found himself looking at a garden. 

What the fuck, he thought, staring through the open door. His new owner claimed they had to bar the windows to keep burglars out, but they’d leave a backdoor open through the night? 

Fucking lying bastard. 

He hesitated, he hadn’t planned to go outside, but curiosity took over. Taven walked out into the gardens thinking this was probably not such a good idea, he’d get lost now for sure. However, he couldn’t help himself. He’d never been in a place as beautiful as this, and it seemed almost magical to him, compelling him to explore. 

The skies started to brighten, though a pale sliver of a moon still hung between the branches of a huge tree, and the air was full of chirping birds. His feet walked on by themselves, while he looked about with a gaping mouth. 

Taven had never been taken outside the city before in his life, and had rarely set foot outside the South End. The closest he’d ever been to any kind of nature was a small communal park not far from where Swift lived. They sure as hell hadn’t taken him there to enjoy himself, though, but because some of Swift’s ‘friends’ had got off on fucking someone outside, in public. There hadn’t been much to enjoy anyway, he thought. He remembered garbage, dog poop, empty bottles, and used condoms where they’d pressed him face down into the ground under some bushes. 

There was no garbage here, not even as much as a single candy wrap. He even stopped a few times to look under the bushes. Nothing. Everything looked strangely perfect. Evenly rounded foliage, neatly raked garden paths, a lawn that looked like a wall-to-wall carpet… It was all just really, really pretty. 

The air was different, too. It was so clean, and sort of smelled nice. It felt like he’d never breathed this easy before. Taven made himself dizzy where he walked, from all the deep breaths he took. The gravel of the path hurt his feet and he stepped out onto the lawn instead. It was damp and chilly, but the sensation of soft grass against his soles, and between his toes, was both entirely new and strangely exhilarating. 

He didn’t want to go back.

After a while, he came across an old green-painted cast iron garden bench with a wooden seat, and he sat down on it, looking about. Shit, this place was huge. It already felt like he’d walked forever and he could still see no end to these gardens. He could see a high wall in the distance, though, between the trees. Did that wall go around the whole grounds? Maybe an unlocked backdoor didn’t matter very much, maybe it wasn’t that easy to get close to this house in any case? Perhaps you couldn’t get away from it either. 

The sun started to come up over the wall, lighting up trees that was turning green with the coming of spring, and it got a bit warmer. He should go back. The house was bound to wake up at any time now, and he would risk running into people, but he couldn’t make himself get up from the bench. Maybe this was the last time he’d ever get a chance to see this. Taven only wanted to enjoy it a little bit longer. 

Stupidly, he started to hope for things again. What if he could go out here regularly, how awesome would that be? He knew it wasn’t likely, though. Swift had never let him go anywhere on his own. He’d not even allowed his slave free movement inside the disgusting apartment he lived in. When Swift wasn't using him, he’d spent most of the time chained to the pipes in the bathroom. 

His new owner had asked him where he thought he could go if he ran away from this house, and yeah, he’d had a point. He would have no fucking place to go. He couldn’t even get back to the city from here. Taven had looked out the car window; there had been nothing but miles and miles of woods and fields. Of course, he would have no place to turn to in the city either. Only, Swift hadn’t been stupid. There might never have been anywhere to go, but if Swift hadn’t chained him to the pipes, he would have run anyway, to anywhere, only to get away from _him_. 

No way would his new master let him run around here as he pleased either. 

He was startled out of his bitter musings at a weird hissing sound and turned his head in confusion. There was this stone... thing close to the bench that, to him, resembled a huge moss covered wine glass, and he realized that’s where the mysterious sound was coming from. 

Puzzled, he walked over to the weirdly hissing sculpture, but just as he was about to lean over, to listen closer; it shot a sudden spray of water high in the air. He was only barely able to jerk away in the last second, or he would have been completely soaked. 

What the hell? 

Okay, so, it was a fountain, but who the fuck had tried to turn it on right in his face? He angrily spun around… and froze at the sight of his new master standing only a few steps away. 

The man laughed a little. “Have you never seen a fountain before?” he said. He turned serious. “I didn’t do that,” he explained calmly. “It’s timed to turn on automatically.” His smile returned. “So, you finally decided to venture outside and take an early walk in the gardens, did you?”

Taven’s defenses were all up on instinct in a second. “You didn’t say I couldn’t go here,” he yelled. “And- and _they_ left my fucking door unlocked. I didn’t do anything. No one fucking told me I couldn’t be here.”

“I know, boy,” his master said as calmly. “It was left unlocked on my orders, and you _can_ be here. Why would I forbid you to walk in the gardens?”

Taven didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t?

“I’m pleased to see you,” his new master continued. “I was beginning to think you had planned to stay down there for all eternity.”

“No one told me to get out,” Taven spat. “How the hell should I know what to do?”

His master raised an eyebrow. “There are plenty of slaves around. If you were confused, or unsure, about something, you could have asked any of them. You could have come to me.”

Taven sneered. His new owner didn’t fucking understand shit. As if he would ever go to a master about anything. The less he saw of the guy, the better.

“I understand,” the man went on. “Being sold was an ordeal. I understand things might not have been easy for you overall. I thought it best to leave you alone for a while, to let you come to terms with things, and recover. I didn’t mean to leave you confused.”

“I ain’t confused,” Taven retorted, though that was a lie as big as anyone he’d ever told. 

His master only smiled. “Well, maybe I should have spoken to you earlier. I did have certain plans for whomever I might buy, of course, but I was in no hurry to set them in motion.” His smile turned into a more worried expression. “It could be that I have to revise my plans somewhat when it comes to you.”

Taven swallowed hard. None of this sounded good. “What plans?” he yelled, his voice betraying his fear. “Re… vise… What? What the fuck is that?”

The man’s worried frown stayed. “’Revise’ only means ‘change’ in this case, boy. Calm down and I’ll explain to you. Don’t worry; we’ll talk about what you can do, and your place here.”

Taven felt his ears go hot. That just made him so angry, and, for the moment, it totally drowned out his fears. Why the fuck did his new owner need to say things like that when they both fucking knew there would be no ‘talks’. He had no fucking say in anything that concerned him, and no free person would ever bother to pretend he had. This was only a new way to mock him, he understood as much, and it fucking pissed him off. 

“You- you fucking liar,” he yelled. “Like you’d ever ask your fucking slaves what they wanna do.”

His owner’s frown deepened. “I _don’t_ ask my slaves what they want to do,” he answered. “They will do what I tell them to do, and the decision is mine, and mine alone. However, I’m not foolish. This is a large household. For this estate to function at its best, I need the right slave in the right place. I need everyone to be suited for their job. How can I determine who is right for what work, if I don’t talk to them?” 

Taven felt stupid. The man hadn’t meant what he thought. “Well, I ain’t suited for anything,” he kept yelling. “I ain’t good for a fucking thing.” 

“Oh, I don’t believe that.” His master smiled again. “You’re a registered exotic. They wouldn’t register you only for your red hair. You must have some sort of training in personal service.”

Taven was surprised. They trained exotics to do special things? It was the first he’d ever heard of it. He knew he was an exotic, but he _had_ thought it only had to do with his long, red hair. It was the only thing, which gave him any value at all. The only time he’d ever heard Swift speak of his property with any sort of pride had been when he’d mentioned that. ‘_Yeah, I’ve got me an exotic_’, he’d say, ‘_he’s a fucking worthless retard, but look at that hair!_’ 

“I ain’t ever got any fucking training,” he said. 

His master looked confused. “You didn’t? Are you sure?”

“I told you, I ain’t good for anything.” Oh, he knew how to do _one_ thing, but he didn’t want to remind his new master.

The man peered inquisitively at him. “This is most peculiar,” he said. “Well, even so, I’m sure you could quickly catch up. There isn’t very much to being a personal slave and attendant, after all. I’m confident you could learn just fine. ”

“Att… What?”

“’Attendant’. Attending his or her master or mistress is one of the things that a personal slave does. You would be going with me to different places, hold my things for me, so that I don’t have to keep my mind on it, and similar.”

Taven thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “…the fuck… You just wanna, like, keep a slave to follow you around?”

His master smiled a little. “I guess you could put it that way, yes.”

Taven couldn’t help another sneer. “Why don’t you just get a fucking dog?” he asked. 

The smile vanished again. “I’m tempted to say ‘touché’,” the man said. “Even a cur off the street would be better behaved than you are, boy, but I’d imagine learning personal service would require a mind at least somewhat brighter than a dog’s. I’m beginning to doubt you have it.”

Taven blinked. He wasn’t used to free people responding to any of his acting out with clever retorts. They’d just whack him across the mouth, or something. He didn’t know how to react to it, other than rudely and defensively glare at his owner.

His new master sighed deeply. “Maybe I’ll have to change my plans altogether. At the moment, I don’t know what to do with you.” 

Taven clenched his hands into fists. “Then why the fuck did you buy me?” he yelled, feeling tears of anger rise in eyes. 

His new owner seemed taken aback at that. “I… I took pity on you,” he finally answered. “It might have been somewhat of an impulse buy.”

An impulse buy? He was so fucking worthless the man hadn’t even had a reason for buying him. 

“You’re lying,” he screamed. “I- I know what all you fucking bastards want. You fucking faggot perverts just buy little kids to fuck them up the ass. Don’t you think I know you just wanna fuck me, and- and, beat the crap out of me for the fucking fun of it, and- and- and…” 

He couldn’t think of anything else to say in his rage and simply stood there, fuming. 

“You think I bought you to…?” His new owner seemed shocked enough not to be able to finish the sentence, but then his expression changed completely, into one of repressed anger. “You’re assuming a lot of things, slave, which you have no notion about. You think I’m in the habit of buying myself children for sex. Well, you are _wrong_! I came for an attendant, that’s all. I would most certainly never buy anyone only to… beat them.”

The man simply shook his head at him, in apparent disappointment, and walked past him. “Go back to your room!” he ordered, without looking back. 

Taven was more confused than ever, the man _hadn’t_ bought him for such things? Really, he hadn’t? 

Obeying a sudden impulse, he ran after his master, soon catching up with him. 

“Master, wait,” he said, trying to get the man’s attention. “I can do that ‘attendis thing’.”

His master didn’t halt and didn’t turn to him. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, boy,” he said.

Taven had absolutely no idea why he insisted.

“But- but if I… You know, I ain’t that bad in bed, honest. I can do a lot of stuff.”

His master finally halted and turned to him with a puzzled look. “I just told you that…”

“But you don’t know how good I am at that,” Taven interrupted, unable to stop himself. “Honest, I am. I can do anything. I suck cock real good; I can take it deep. I can take, like, anything up the ass, too. Honest, I ain’t lying. You’re gonna like it. I’ll do any shit, no whining, I swear.”

“For goodness sake, slave, stop that!” his owner yelled. “I’m _not_ going to use you in such a fashion, don’t you understand?” 

Obviously, his new owner was angry, but it didn’t make any fucking sense. Why would the man be so damn angry, when the only thing he’d done was telling his master what he could do? Taven had _spit_ the man in the face, and he’d hardly reacted, but he got angry when his slave said he would be good? 

Unless… Oh, Taven got it now. It wasn’t that his new master was angry he finally behaved. He was angry because a slave like him, looking like he did, thought a rich guy like that, would ever touch such garbage. The man had bought him on impulse, and now he regretted it. Obviously, the mere thought of using a rejected whore from the South End for sex would disgust people like him. Taven wanted to sink into the earth; he was such a stupid fucking _idiot_. 

“Yeah, I fucking understand,” he yelled. “I know I fucking look like shit all over.”

Again, his master looked taken aback. “It’s not… I don’t even know what you look like ’all over’.”

He didn’t fucking _know_? 

On the other hand, the man hadn’t examined him at the market, and had looked all shocked when he’d gotten a glimpse of his shoulders. So, okay, he didn’t know. The fucking bastard of a slave trader hadn’t told his rich customer then, just wanting to get rid of the troublemaking slave as soon as possible, no doubt. 

Taven didn’t know who he hated the most at the moment. The slave trader who must have known this buyer would return, or get rid of, such a slave as soon as he realized, or his new master who hadn’t even bothered to examine his purchase. 

Again, anger took hold of him. He’d better just get it over with then. 

“Then- then you made a fucking mistake,” he spat bitterly. “That fat bastard of a trader fooled you.” He started to tear at his clothes in desperation, pulling the shirt over his head, and tearing at the elastic waistband of his pants, kicking them off and away when they pooled around his ankles. “Just look at what you fucking bought!” he yelled.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel stared.

He didn’t know what he had expected when the slave started to pull his clothes off, but it wasn’t this. The glimpse of the boy’s scarred back, a week, or so, ago, had been bad enough. Now he realized it was much worse than he could have ever imagined.

Not only was the boy blatantly underweight, but the scarring was not confined to his shoulders and upper back. The scarring was everywhere. He could see them on the boy’s chest, his arms, his legs, and even on his belly. Nickel clasped a hand over his mouth, fighting back a surge of nausea. Good God, the boy only had one nipple. His right nipple was simply missing, a huge crooked scar in its place.

It wasn’t even all. It seemed the slave was determined his master wasn’t going to miss anything. He provocatively parted his legs wide, and showed the inside of his thighs. The skin was weirdly ‘bumpy’, like orange peel. Scars as well, Nickel realized, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what had caused them. 

Nickel had hardly recovered from the shock of this macabre display when the boy turned to reveal his backside. He had seen parts of the scarred back and shoulders before, but the robe had not slipped down far enough at the time to reveal _this_.

Someone had tattooed the slave. At the small of his back, there was a big and crudely carved tattoo, the very ugliness of the thing adding on to the humiliation of forcing such a horrid mark on the boy. The black marks formed a word. Five large letters, spelled out ‘WHORE’ over a, likewise, tattooed arrow, pointing downward, between his ass cheeks. 

“I can’t read,” the boy said, head hanging and shoulders slumped, his voice strangely detached. “But I know what it says. They told me all the time.”

Nickel couldn’t remember ever having been more at a loss for words than right now. For a while, he thought he might actually throw up. He gulped and swallowed repeatedly, desperately trying to get a grip of himself. He finally picked up the shirt from the grass with shaking hands, and draped it over the slave’s shoulders. 

“Cover yourself up!” he said. 

He didn’t wait to see if the boy obeyed him. He turned and walked away, only refraining from running with some effort. As he hurried back to the house, he knew he was fleeing, but he couldn’t help himself.


	9. A Small Breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo) made some amazing fanart for a scene in this chapter. Go take a look at it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/57191593#workskin)!
> 
> You will not regret a visit, believe me. There are no less then seven watercolor paintings, playing out the whole scene with so much movement and feeling. It's quite something. 
> 
> Thanks so much, leaovo, for doing something so cool for this story! :-) 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Thanks also to everyone else, who have commented, subscribed, left kudos, or just took the time to check the story out (regardless of if it ended up being your thing, or not). :-) 
> 
> /Fran

Nickel had his routines and habits. 

He usually woke up rather early, especially in the warmer months, when he often threw some sweatpants and a t-shirt on to take a brisk walk in the gardens. Coming back, he took his time in the bathroom, choosing the outfit for the day, and at breakfast. He read the newspaper from cover to cover, and usually demanded a new cup of coffee toward the end, the first one always going cold before he finished it. 

After breakfast, he retreated to the study for work. 

The study was a masculine and imposing room, once decorated and furnished by his great grandfather. Not much had changed since those days, apart from the addition of some modern technology. The carpet had been replaced a few times, but it was still the same mossy green, and the original furniture, dark and heavy, was untouched. Built in bookcases lined the walls, holding the estate’s papers and relevant books. The wide desk was solid black-stained oak, and had a leathered top. Its leather chair resembled a throne with its tall back, towering over the sitter. Smaller chairs along the wall could be pulled up to the desk, for a visitor to sit on, but a slave called in here wasn't allowed to use them. 

Nickel spent a few hours in the study every weekday, going through the mail, signing and filing papers, paying bills, making an occasional phone call to the bank, or their accountant, as well as looking through the receipts the Head Cook gave him of the purchases made for the household. 

Today, he wasn't getting the paperwork done. 

Nickel couldn’t concentrate on what was before him on the desktop, and the papers were unread and unsigned. He couldn’t forget what had happened in the gardens earlier in the morning, and didn’t know what he felt worse about. Realizing just how badly that poor slave had been treated, or walking out on the boy, leaving him standing there, alone, in all his vulnerable nudity.

He would talk to the boy, he told himself; of course he would. Nickel only needed to figure out what on earth to say first. At least it sounded like a good enough excuse. 

There was a knock on the door, it opened a crack and Roth peeked through. “Hey, are you busy?” he asked.

Nickel shook his head, happy about the distraction. 

Roth walked inside, grabbed a chair by the wall, and sat down across from him. He threw a folder on the desktop with a satisfied grin. “Got you the info you wanted,” he said. “It was child’s play, really.”

Nickel took the folder. “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a copy of a coroner’s report.”

Nickel raised an eyebrow. “Are such papers on the public records?”

Roth only smiled and shook his head.

“But, how did you…?”

Roth grinned widely now. “I know people, who know people,” was his only answer.

It was clear his friend wasn’t going to tell him more, and Nickel’s curiosity took over. It didn’t take him many seconds to overlook the fact the papers in his hands were probably not legally acquired. He flipped through them and soon enough found what he was looking for. 

“Did you see this?” he asked, showing Roth the passage in question.

“Yep, I saw it,” Roth said.

“I have to look up some of these terms, but I think this confirms my suspicion,” Nickel said. “Thank you, Roth.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven had put his clothes on in a daze. He’d walked back to the house on unsteady feet, where he discovered he didn’t find his way back to his room. He’d been forced to ask a girl in the kitchens. She’d looked at him funny, but hadn’t commented on it, only silently showing him the way. There had been a breakfast tray waiting for him, but he hadn’t even looked it over. He’d curled up on the bed and stared at the wall.

So, this was it. This was the end. Just when it had started to look like maybe things around here wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought, he was out. Taven couldn’t even take in what this would actually mean. His death, most likely, but he wasn’t able to process this fact at the moment. He could only focus on the present – one single emotion filling his whole being.

How was it even possible rejection could still hurt so fucking bad? 

As far back as he remembered, Taven had been nothing but rejected. When he was a small kid, someone had told him he was of no use and had taken him to an old man and his wife. The man had fucked him and the woman had looked away. Then, as soon as the husband had died, the woman had sold him, so, rejected again. Swift had bought him, and let countless men use him. They had all rejected him, too, when they were done with him. The few who had said they felt sorry for him, or promised they would help, had never come back. A few years later, Swift had dumped him at the slave market without even telling him. 

Now, this man had already dumped him, too. 

At least the others had used him. Here, he was too worthless even for that. The man hadn’t even rejected him for how bad he was, or for how horribly he’d behaved, but simply for what he _was_. 

The way his new owner had looked at him... He should be used to disgust and contempt by now, but it had still hurt so fucking bad the way the man had held his hand over his mouth, as if he was about to throw up.

He didn’t know for how long he simply remained lying there, but eventually a girl came with his lunch. She exchanged the untouched breakfast tray with the new one without a word, and left. He smelled the food, but remained on the bed. Eating, what the fuck would even be the point?

\-----o0o-----

Toward the afternoon, Nickel walked down to Taven’s room. He hesitated outside the door again, but not for fear of a sudden attack this time.

Nickel wasn’t used to having this kind of talks with slaves. He might be excused from doing this at all, he thought, simply by claiming it beneath him. However, he knew it wouldn’t be right. He’d bought this boy to be his personal slave. There was nothing strange, or unusual, about having a conversation of a more personal nature with a slave of _that_ kind. 

He had to admit he was only trying to avoid the whole thing because it made him so utterly uncomfortable, and that was simply immature, wasn’t it? He resolutely walked inside. 

The slave was on his side on the bed, knees drawn up against his chest. He showed no reaction at his master’s arrival, and didn’t even turn his head. Nickel noted the untouched lunch tray on the table. The maids had regularly reported the boy ate like a starving buzzard, but it seemed he’d not touched any food at all since the episode in the gardens this morning. It worried Nickel.

“Taven?” he tried. “Are you asleep?”

No answer, no attempt to get up from the bed, but there was a noticeable tensioning of the boy’s shoulders and back. Well, he wasn’t asleep then.

Nickel sat down at the bedside. “The maids tell me you’ve not eaten today,” he said. “That won’t do. You have to eat, Taven. You’re already much too…” ‘Much too thin’, he’d been about to say, but he hadn’t wanted to bring up the state of the slave’s body. He sighed; he supposed it wasn’t possible to avoid. 

“About this morning,” he started. “I’m sorry.” Nickel cringed at his own words. ‘Never apologize to a slave’, that’s what his father had taught him, but, it felt like the right thing to say. Nickel _was_ sorry, about the whole damn thing. So sad, that anyone had had to endure such treatment. 

The boy didn’t react. 

“I might have said and done some rather mean things this morning,” Nickel continued. “I shouldn’t have called you an ‘impulse buy’ for one thing. I’d admit to the fact I might not have known what I was getting myself into when I bought you, but a simple impulse it was not. I knew what I meant to do. What I saw was a valuable slave ruined by bad treatment. The way you acted, the way you spoke… It’s not your fault, boy. They did you wrong, and I wanted to correct it. You didn’t deserve to be so horribly wasted. An exotic like you, I wanted to give a chance. I shouldn’t have implied you’re not as bright as a dog. I don’t think you’re stupid. You can learn to be a decent attendant. I’m positive you can.”

Nickel silenced and tried to read the boy’s body language where he laid, his face turned away from him. Was he listening? Did he understand? Nickel wasn’t sure, but he went on anyway. 

“Having said that, I’ll admit my motives weren’t entirely unselfish. When I saw you… Your face, boy, your hair, it’s so… It’s so pretty. I had to have you. It doesn’t mean I would use you the same awful way others obviously have. It’s not that you’re unattractive, not at all, but the way you spoke of it… It’s not how I want things, do you understand?”

Nickel steeled himself; he could avoid it no longer. “Your marks… Your injuries… The state of your body is unfortunate, but it doesn’t necessarily have to change anything.”

The boy’s back seemed to tense up even more, but he remained silent and unmoving. 

“I’ve thought about this the whole day,” Nickel said, “but I still don’t know what to say to you. Damn it,” he swore. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you. I know what you must be thinking. You think I left you in disgust, and, well, I did. I _was_ disgusted, but not with you, Taven. Do you hear me? This is an important distinction, boy, so try to listen closely. I wasn’t disgusted with you, not in the least. When you showed me what people have done to you, I was shocked, appalled and utterly disgusted, with _those people_. Do you understand this?”

Still no answer. Nickel almost wished for an outburst of anger or a hysterical fit, anything, but this troubling apathy.

“Well, I know now, and I will have to deal with it as best as I can. We’ll talk to our family doctor. He’s a nice man, you’ll see, and… It’ll be all right. I still want to give you a chance. I went to the slave market to find a personal slave and attendant. I’m still confident you can be that slave and can have a place here.”

There was a sudden sharp intake of breath from the boy. Finally, a reaction. Nickel continued, encouraged.

“However, if we are to have any chance of changing things for the better you need to cooperate with me, boy. I understand you think you have no reason to trust me, but you will have to try to anyway. I mean you no harm; you must believe me when I say that.”

Nickel put a tentative and, he hoped, comforting hand on the boy’s hip. “Now, will you listen to and obey your master? Will you behave, and stop these pointless outbursts and provocations?”

The boy shuddered slightly at the touch, but there was still no answer. Was this depressed apathy, or only childish sulking? Nickel wanted to grab the slave by the arms and force him to sit up, acknowledge his master’s presence and answer when he was spoken to. He fought to remain calm.

“Then tell me what on earth I’m supposed to do with you, boy?” he said, trying not to show his annoyance. He was being more than patient and reasonable, but the slave wasn’t reasonable in return, stubbornly ignoring his owner. Could he be wrong? Was this slave as hopeless as the trader had claimed, and was Nickel only fooling himself because of such a simple and stupid fact he found the boy pretty? 

“I can’t return you,” he said. “Even if I wanted to, which I _don’t_, the trader made me promise I wouldn’t. I can’t sell you, or give you away. It wouldn’t be right of me to push these issues on someone else. There is no other possible option that wouldn’t see you come to harm.”

Nothing.

Nickel threw up his hands in exasperation “All right, stay in here then, and do nothing. You’ll be fed, no one will touch you, and as long as you’re not bothering anyone, or cause any trouble, I won’t take further action against you.” Nickel stood up and turned to the boy, staring at his back and the long braid curling behind him, coppery red and shiny against the white sheets. He would so have wanted to… “I want to help you, boy,” he tried one last time, “but what can I do if you won’t _let_ me.”

No reaction.

Nickel sighed, saddened by his failure, and turned to the door. “Well, I suppose this is it then,” he said.”I won’t come back.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

\-----o0o-----

Taven startled at the sound of the door closing, but he remained where he was. His head felt so heavy, and it was spinning with all the things his owner had said. He couldn’t get a grip on anything.

The man had called him ‘Taven’. Several times.! It was still his name? Why? Was he really not going to throw him out? His owner hadn’t said a word about him going anywhere, quite the other way around, he’d said he wanted to give him a place here.

It was still far from the strangest thing he’d heard. The man had said he wasn’t an impulse buy, after all, that he deserved a chance. He’d wanted to ‘correct’ him? He thought he was valuable, and not stupid. Taven thought he must have gotten all those things wrong, or… The man had been lying. Yeah, he was just lying, but… 

His owner had also said he was sorry. A master wouldn’t demean himself, just to get to lie to a slave. Free people never, ever, _ever_ said they were sorry. Taven was damn sure that was because free people never _were_ sorry about what they did to slaves. Why would they be? 

Maybe he’d only meant he was sorry he’d bought damaged goods at all! However, the man had said he _wasn’t_ disgusting. Then he’d said _he_ was disgusted, but not with his body? Taven was so fucking confused. The man had said he was pretty. Was his face and hair good enough then, that his body didn’t matter? How did that even make sense? Was the man going to fuck him or not? Taven couldn’t tell. He’d said he didn’t want to use him like other people had. Like what? Were there other ways? 

What did his owner _want_?

Taven slowly pulled himself up in a sitting position. It didn’t matter if the man did fuck him now and then, he thought, or in what way. He could stand that shit; he was used to it, after all. The important thing here was his master had clearly said he could do other things, too. If the food trays also kept coming, he wouldn’t pass him around too much, and the man wouldn’t go brutal on him, then… Hell, yeah, Taven would take it up the ass like a good boy and not whine about it. If his owner had told the truth about all this, it would still be a better life than he could have ever hoped for.

_If_ he’d told the truth.

Taven looked at the door. It was all just so fucking weird, the things the man had said. He would be a fool to believe it, and he was sure it was some kind of trick. He had to give up a cynic snarl at the mere thought of believing that shit talk. 

Besides, even if the man meant what he said, it still wouldn’t be true. His new master would soon enough tire of whatever game he was playing and throw him out anyway. For whatever strange reason the man was being nice, so far, but eventually he’d lose his temper over something and beat the crap out of his new slave. They all did. It wouldn’t matter if he tried to behave. 

Taven looked down between his feet and started to twist the end of his braid around his fingers. Another voice in his head kept telling him he was a fucking idiot. 

The man had said he only wanted him to listen, obey and behave, and sure, he could do that. No problems. He’d crawled at free peoples’ feet for much less than what this man had promised him. That wasn’t it. It was the ‘trust part’ he couldn’t do. He could _not_ trust this man, but… 

Why the fuck did he need to trust him? 

So what if it was all a lie and the man was just playing with him, so what if it wouldn’t last? Could he really afford not even trying to find out if it could be true? No, he couldn’t, because he had absolutely nothing to lose whatsoever. 

What the fuck was he afraid of? Was he scared of being hurt if he found out the man was just fucking with him, as if he could be more hurt than he’d already been. If the man _was_ fooling him, he’d fucking attack him again, Taven promised himself, and then they’d shoot him, and he wouldn’t feel a fucking thing ever again. 

So, what did he have to lose? 

He looked at the door again. Oh shit, he _was_ a fucking idiot. His master had left and he wouldn’t come back. The man had practically said he’d lock him in and throw away the key.

Taven gulped. Not even the food would be worth living out weeks and months, maybe even years, in total isolation in here, completely ignored and forgotten. An occasional beating suddenly didn’t seem so bad in comparison. He kept staring at the door. Had he already locked it? 

He finally snapped out of it and scrambled to his feet. Taven tore at the handle in panic, only marginally calmed when he realized the door was still unlocked. He flung it open so forcefully it slammed against the wall, and ran through the corridor and up the stairs, 

It couldn’t be too late. It just couldn’t…

Taven halted at the top of the stairs and looked about for his master. He could see down the whole length of the hallway leading toward the kitchens, but it was empty. He flung open the door closest to him, but it only opened to a small closet. He ran down the hallway to the next door. It led to another staircase, and, halfway up the steps, he finally spotted his owner.

“Wait,” he yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Master, wait!”

His master halted, turned, and walked down a few steps. “Yes?” he said, peering down at him inquisitively. 

Taven stared back up. He had no idea what to say. It was hard enough to think things, but it was still a hell of a lot easier than to express them. How could he ever explain his reasoning back there? He had to say something, though, or the man would leave, and he didn’t think he’d get another chance.

“I- I’ll try, okay?” he said. “I’ll behave, and all that. I’ll obey, and do anything you say. I mean it. I’ll be nice, and co- co- copy… I mean, I’ll listen and behave. I swear I will.” 

His master looked at him with obvious suspicion and remained silent.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Taven tried; ever more scared it was already too late. “I know I’ve behaved like a fucking ass. I was just, you know… I just thought you’re a mean bastard, like all the rest, and- and maybe you’re not, and… I’ll behave for you. I will, for you, Master. I promise. Honest, I ain’t lying.”

His master only raised his eyebrows. Why the fuck didn’t he say anything? Didn’t he believe him? Taven was angry. He fucking meant it, but masters never believed him. Deep down, though, Taven knew, if his new master didn’t believe him, it was his own fucking fault. Why would anyone believe a word he said, the way he behaved? 

Angrily he wiped at the tears that threatened to spill over. Fuck, why could he never keep from crying like some stupid kid? Taven wanted to yell something bad at his master, swear and curse at him again; he wanted to just fucking _break_ something. In the end, he simply collapsed to his knees at the bottom of the stairs. 

He was just so damn tired. Inside.

“I ain’t fucking lying,” he sobbed. “I know I’m just shit, all right? I _know_ that, but I can be good, too. I can be as fucking obedient as you want. You- you just try me, and you’ll see. Don’t just lock me away, please.” He slid down on his stomach. “Please, Master, I’ll do anything you want.”

He could hear the man walk down the stairs, and then there was a soft hand on his shoulder. “Taven, stand up, so that I can talk with you.” His master followed these words up with a gentle grip of his arm, helping him to his feet. 

Taven hung his head, and dried at his face with his sleeves. He felt like an idiot. The man made him look up, and pushed away those annoying shorter strands that always escaped his braid to hang in his eyes. 

“You’re saying that you’re prepared to cooperate now?” his master asked, looking at him with a serious expression.

“I told you,” Taven answered. “I will.”

His master smiled. “I knew the trader was wrong,” he said.”I _knew_ I could reason with you. Very well, boy, I won’t lock you away. Things will be all right, you’ll see. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all you’ll need to know. I’ll teach you how to kneel properly. You don’t need to lay flat on the floor. If you listen to me, I won’t be harsh with you.”

Taven felt more than awkward. He was used to many things, but amiable talks with a master weren’t one of them. “Okay,” he murmured, trying to avoid the man’s eyes. “I- I’ll try.”

The man kept stroking his hair. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear this, boy,” he said. “Now, you haven’t eaten all day, why don’t you go back to your room and finish your lunch? Get some rest, and I’ll send for you tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay,” Taven repeated, still avoiding the man’s eyes. 

“I know this was hard for you, boy,” his master added. “I know this doesn’t mean you trust me, but you did the right thing. Believe me, you made the right decision.”

Taven wasn’t so sure, but there was no going back from here.


	10. A Test for the Slave, a Test for the Master

Early in the morning, before breakfast, Nickel skipped his walk in the gardens and went down to Taven’s room instead. 

Nickel had been in an unusually good mood, waking up. Yesterday’s talk with his new slave had proven a breakthrough. The boy had finally come to his senses, and he was eager to start to work on this ‘diamond in the rough’.

He gave the door a short rap, to alert the boy of his arrival rather than seeking permission to enter, and walked inside. He knew he’d told Taven he would send for him, but he’d changed his mind when he came to think of the boy’s clothing, or lack thereof. 

The slave was awake, dressed, and sitting on the bed, pressed into the corner, staring at him. Apparently, he would have to teach him how to greet your master properly. 

Not that Nickel was very strict on such things. He knew people who insisted on a certain level of form even at the expense of practicality, arguing that it was ‘psychologically important’. Nickel could see what they meant, but personally, it would annoy him. Nothing would ever be done in this house if he insisted on the slaves formally dropping to their knees every time he happened to walk by. As long as they otherwise showed proper respect, Nickel was generally casual about it. 

Just remaining seated, staring, when your master walked into the room, was not showing proper respect.

Nickel gave the slave a deep frown, and maybe he finally understood what he was doing wrong. The boy got off the bed and stood beside the table. He looked immensely awkward, staring at his feet and scratching the back of his head, making the end of the long braid bounce. 

At least he tried. It showed the promises he’d made to his master the night before hadn’t been empty words. Nickel soon forgave Taven the sloppy ‘greeting’. Obviously, the boy’s training had been more severely neglected than he thought.

“Good morning, Taven,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I guess,” the boy murmured from under the strands of hair hanging in his face.

Nickel shook his head. The slave’s language and form of address would need some work, as well. 

“I noticed you’re still wearing the clothes from the slave market,” he said, bringing up the reason he came in the first place. “I’m sure there’s something in these closets you can use, aren’t there?”

“I, uh, that’s… I thought those weren’t for me,” Taven said. “They’re, like, too big, and shit.”

Nickel turned to open a closet door and picked out a plain gray shirt, holding it in front the boy. It would reach his knees, and the sleeves would completely cover his hands. “I see what you mean,” he said. “I will have to buy you new clothes. You shouldn’t wear the same as the house slaves in any case, but for now… What you _are_ wearing is filthy.” 

He turned back for a pair of pants as well, and pushed it all in the boy’s arms. “Roll up the sleeves and the pants legs,” he said. “It will have to do for now. You can change in the bathroom. And throw those rags away; you’ll never need them again.”

Taven obeyed without a word, and Nickel couldn’t help his amused smile when the boy came back out. The slave looked like a small child in the oversized clothes. At least they were clean and didn’t have a large footprint on the back. “Oh my,” he said. “We definitely have to buy you a new wardrobe.”

The boy frowned at him, and didn’t look happy at the prospect of his master shopping for him at all. Nickel sighed. This slave really was unable to feel any sort of gratitude.

Taven squirmed before him in his baggy clothes. “Will it be, like, all long sleeves?” he asked. “You know, like, not showing any skin?”

His question gave Nickel pause. Maybe this wasn’t about ingratitude. He knew, after all, how people sometimes dressed their personal slaves in revealing and skimpy outfits, showing off their bodies. Taven probably expected something similar. “I will keep your specific circumstances in mind when I chose clothes for you,” he promised. 

The slaves bringing Taven's breakfast interrupted them. The girl carrying the tray, and the man who accompanied her, obviously didn’t expect to see their master. Both of them bowed deeply and excused themselves profusely. Nickel silenced them with a raised hand and told them it was all right.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” he said, “and then I _will_ send for you.” He gave the boy a smile, hoping it was reassuring, and left.

\-----o0o-----

Taven followed through the house. 

After breakfast he’d been ‘sent for’, and one of the house slaves, a young girl, was showing him the way to wherever his master had ordered him to be taken. The girl didn’t talk to him while they walked, but she shyly looked over her shoulder now and then, as if to see if he was still following. Taven sulkily sauntered behind her, holding the shirt tightly around him, trying to keep the oversized piece of clothing from sliding down his shoulders. He didn’t want to give her any glimpses of how shitty he looked so she could talk about him to the others. 

He was nervous. A master ‘sending for you’, that couldn’t be good, could it? He wasn’t sure, because he’d never had anyone send for him before. The places they'd kept him in hadn’t been big enough. 

Taven already regretted he’d promised to behave. Not that it would make a fucking difference; the man would do what he wanted in either case. It would still have felt better if they'd dragged him kicking and screaming toward whatever shit awaited him. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though, he tried to soothe himself. His master _had_ talked about teaching him stuff, and maybe that was all this was about. Truth be told, this didn’t make him less nervous. He wasn’t good at learning stuff. 

The girl showed him inside a door, ominously closing it behind him. Taven looked about. The room was dusky; the walls lined with bookcases and the shades half drawn. His master sat in a high-backed chair behind a desk, which was so big wide and black it looked like a fucking coffin. 

The man had a serious expression, Taven thought. He shivered. Everything looked kind of serious. Taven pulled the shirt tighter around him where he stood in the middle of the floor. 

“Yesterday,” his master started, “you promised you would listen and behave. Today, I want you to show me you really meant it.”

What the fuck, Taven thought, this was some kind of test? He didn’t know if he was supposed to answer and remained silent. 

“At the slave market,” the man continued, “you did something very bad. I can’t neglect to address it any longer. You bit my friend in the arm, Taven. It was a nasty bite, too. It left a wound which could have become infected, and it might leave a scar. You will have to make it up to him.”

Taven swayed. Fuck! The bite! He’d all but forgotten. How could he have thought he’d get away with something like that? He wanted to steady himself against something, but his legs felt so weak and shaky he didn’t trust himself to walk the short distance over to the wall. It took all he had only to stay on his feet. 

If he weren’t in such dread, he would have yelled at the fucking lying bastard behind the desk. He’d tricked his stupid slave into behaving, only to cruelly spring this on him the very next day. Why the hell had the man gone on about giving him a place here and not wanting to hurt him, even saying he’d buy him clothes, if he knew all along he’d have his slave beaten half to death? His new owner was as big of a sadistic bastard as Swift had ever been. 

“You- you’re gonna hand me over to _him_? You’re gonna let that guy beat the shit out of me?” he managed, weak of voice.

“Hand you over…?” Unexpectedly, his master got up and walked over to him. The man took him by the arm and made him sit down on a chair along the wall. Taven was too anxious to protest and sank down heavily with his head between his knees, clutching at his stomach.

“No,” his owner said, sitting down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “No, no, you misunderstand me, boy. I’m not handing you over to anyone. Mr. Roth, my bodyguard, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He only wants an apology, that’s all.”

Taven sat up straight in sheer astonishment. “What? I, like, just have to say I’m sorry, and he won’t beat me?”

The man gave him a sad smile. “Of course he won’t beat you. I wouldn’t allow it even if he wanted to. Look, Roth is a nice man, and I understand that… We both understand you panicked. I don’t believe you meant to hurt him, did you?”

Taven stared at the man beside him. No, he hadn’t, but what the hell did that have to do with anything? Since when would it matter _why_ he acted in certain ways? Free people didn’t care! You did something they didn’t like; you suffered! It was a simple as that. 

He shook his head. “No,” he said, watching his master with suspicion. “Honest! It just sorta happened.”

“See? If you didn’t mean it, and you’re truly sorry, then that’s all Roth wants. He didn’t deserve that, Taven. I realize you might not have understood it at the time, but Roth only wanted to help you, the same as I did.”

Taven kept staring at his master. He simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Okay, maybe his new master was some weird loony guy who really meant the crazy stuff he was saying, but there being _two_ such free men around… No, Taven wasn’t prepared to believe that.

His new master wanted to test him? Well, Taven was going to test him right back! “I- I’ll say I’m sorry,” he said. “I will, but if you’re lying to me, Master, and he beats me… I’m _never_ gonna believe you again.” 

His master gave him a serious look, and nodded. “Fair enough,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Roth nodded into his phone where he sat at a patio at the back of the mansion, sipping a glass of orange juice a maid had brought him. He told his boss he would come inside right away, and hung up.

Nickel had called him earlier in the morning, asking him out to the mansion. He’d said he had ‘a surprise’ for him, and had asked his friend to wait somewhere on the grounds, but away from the study, until he called again. Walking through the old labyrinthine house now, Roth had no idea what was going on, but he hadn’t tried to make Nickel explain himself. 

Nickel sometimes did these things, being secretive and what not, wanting to surprise him. Roth grinned; Nickel wasn’t a prankster, so he usually had no problems humoring the young lord.

Roth knocked on the study door and stepped inside. The first thing he saw was the redheaded boy standing in the middle of the floor. Nickel stood right behind him with a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and it was hard to tell if he meant to comfort the redhead, or was keeping him in place. 

This was about the slave then.

Roth hadn’t seen the boy since the day they’d brought him here and he took a moment to study him. He looked different somehow. Smaller? Less angry? Definitely cleaner! The slave seemed very nervous, too, staring at his feet and twirling the end of his long braid around his fingers.

Roth gave Nickel a questioning look.

“Taven,” Nickel said. “Mr. Roth is here.”

The boy only briefly looked up at him, but didn’t say a word.

“I believe you promised me something,” Nickel spoke again, the slightest hint of impatience in his voice.

The boy squirmed and pulled at his braid, but then he took a step toward him, bowed deeply and spoke. “I- I’m sorry, Mr. Roth,” he murmured. “For, like, saying a lot of shitty things, and making trouble, and for- for biting you, and shit. It was all wrong, and I’m never gonna do it again. Honest!”

Roth was surprised now, all right.

He locked eyes with Nickel over the slave’s bowed back, and must have looked as astonished as he felt. Nickel smiled triumphantly. 

“Hm…” Roth didn’t know how to respond. “I would like to accept your apology, boy,” he said, “but it’s kind of hard to believe you really mean it.”

The slave stood up straight from his bow and glared at him. “I’m not fucking lying,” he half-yelled. “_He_ said I had to do this, and- and I promised I’d behave, and… I don’t fucking care what you think; I didn’t _wanna_ bite you. I don’t even know why I did, and- and…”

He turned to his master. “He don’t believe me! Don’t be angry, okay? I tried and he don’t fucking believe me. Don’t let him do stuff to me!”

Nickel gave him a look over Taven’s shoulder that was both pleading and demanding. Roth sighed. “All right, boy, I believe you. I accept your apology, and I’m not going to ‘do stuff to you’. What the hell?”

The boy turned to him again. “Like you don’t wanna beat the shit out of me for that,” he snarled.

“Taven!” Nickel admonished. “This is no way to speak to a free person!”

Roth shook his head with a wry smile. Seems he wasn’t the only skeptic in the room. “Oh, let him speak, Nickel,” he said. “You bet I wanted to kick your ass, boy,” he answered the slave, “but for goodness sake, that was over a week ago. Not everybody holds lifelong grudges, you know. I didn’t get rabies, you apologized; I’m cool! Water under the bridge, and all that.” He grinned.

“See?” Nickel said to the boy. “Was I lying to you?”

The slave looked back and forth between them, not letting up on the skeptical and suspicious expression. “No, Master,” he finally admitted, seemingly as meek as a kitten, all of a sudden. “You didn’t.”

Roth was surprised with how different the boy seemed. Not that he would consider the slave an example of good behavior and proper decorum anytime soon, but at least you could talk to him like a normal person. It was a step in the right direction, and Nickel proudly smiled at his ‘project’.

“You did well, boy,” Nickel said. “I think this might be a good time to bring up something else, as well.”

More surprises, Roth wondered.

Nickel walked over to his desk and returned with a folder that Roth recognized right away.

“Taven,” Nickel said, looking serious. “Can you tell me what happened when your first master passed away?”

The question was unexpected, Roth noted. “Uh?” was all the boy managed, confusion written all over his face. 

Nickel patiently tried to clarify. “The slave trader insinuated you had something to do with the man’s death, but I didn’t believe him. What do _you_ have to say about it?”

The slave backed away from them both, throwing quick glances at the door as if he hoped he could make a run for it. Roth crossed his arms over his chest; surely, Taven realized he would never get past him. “Well?” Roth butted in. “_Did_ you have something to do with it?”

Taven turned red and pale in turn. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he finally said. 

“That’s not an answer,” Roth said.

“All right, then,” the slave yelled, in the same teary-eyed sort of anger Roth remembered from the slave market. “I did. I fucking killed that fucking bastard! So- so, you can just go ahead and kill me right now, ‘cause that’s just what you want anyway, ain’t it?”

“That’s not what we want,” Nickel said, “not at all! We only want the truth.”

“We _know_ the truth,” Roth interrupted. “So you can just stop lying about it, boy. We have the papers from the autopsy. Your first master died from a heart attack, plain and simple.” 

Nickel stepped in again, holding up the folder. “It’s true, Taven. We have the papers here. Your first master died of a heart attack. I can’t understand where the slave trader got this from in the first place. Did you actually tell him this yourself? You did? My God, Taven; why would you lie about such a serious matter?” 

“I’m not lying,” Taven said. “I’m _not_! I did kill him.”

“That’s enough,” Nickel said, clearly not amused. “Stop this nonsense, slave! You might have wished you had, but you couldn’t possibly have. Don’t you understand how dangerous such a lie was? It could have gotten you killed!”

“Why the fuck do _you_ care?” Taven yelled. “And- and you don’t know anything anyway! That fucking bastard keeled over fucking me, okay?”

“What?” Roth said

Nickel was obviously stunned silent, while the boy suddenly seemed to want to pour his heart out.

“That fucking bastard had me face down on his bed, fucking me until I screamed, like he always did,” he loudly informed them. “That fucking fat mean _son of a bitch_. Then he just, like, fell over me, and didn’t move anymore, and… I thought I was gonna die, too. He was so fucking big, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, and- and he was like totally crushing me for… I don’t even know how long. Until his wife came home, and she pulled him off.”

Nickel still didn’t seem to be able to get a word out, and Roth tried his best to get a set of very disturbing images out of his head.” 

“And- and I was fucking _happy_ about it,” the slave yelled at their silence. “He died because he was fucking me so damn hard. Served that mean fucker _just_ right!” 

Nickel dried at his upper lip. “Good, God! I can see how you might have wanted to interpret what happened in such a way, Taven, but you have to know it wasn’t you. He was an older man with a heart condition. It was only coincidence it happened when- when… Oh, God! Did you tell the man the widow sold you to, as well?”

Again, the slave’s silence was telling enough.

Nickel shook his head in worry. “I don’t understand you, boy. Maybe that man wouldn’t have treated you so harshly if…”

“That ain’t got fuck to do with it, Master,” Taven interrupted. “He just hurt me all the time for the fun of it. Didn’t matter what I did. It fucking turned him on to hear me scream.”

“Was it really _that_ bad?” Roth asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how awful some people could be, but he still suspected the boy was exaggerating. Maybe he hoped it would make his new master sympathetic enough to overlook his bad behavior. 

Taven turned to Nickel again and tugged imploringly at his sleeve. “Please, Master, don’t make me show him. Please!”

“Show me what?” Roth asked. What was going on?

Nickel took his hand. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that,” he assured the boy. “I only wanted to sort this out. Now, whatever your reasons were for telling people this, you will never do it again. Do you understand?”

“I wasn’t lying,” the boy said, hanging his head. 

“Well, you weren’t telling the truth either, were you?”

“…no, Master.”

“Then you do understand my order correctly, don’t you?”

Taven still hung his head, but nodded. “I won’t lie again.”

Nickel smiled and pulled the boy closer, caressing him over the head. “That’s good, Taven, you did well!”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel had sent the boy back to his room, a maid guiding him, and Roth could hardly wait until the door had closed behind them.

“Okay,” he said, turning to Nickel. “How did you do that?”

Nickel reclined in his big desk chair. “Do what?” he asked. 

“That! Making that angry kid behave? I mean, not like he acts anywhere close to the others around here, but a few days ago, you couldn’t even talk to him without him going nuts, and now… It was ‘yes, master’ and ‘no, master’ and apologizing, and bowing, and shit. Yeah, what did you do? Drug him?”

Nickel laughed. “Of course I didn’t drug him. I suppose all I did was to remain patient, firm and caring, just like you were with the dog. Eventually, it created an opening where I could reason with him.”

Roth nodded. He hoped that boy would one day realize just how lucky he was. Not many slave owners would be this patient, not even if they had a point to prove. “Well, I guess you were right then,” he admitted. “So, you think he trusts you now?”

Nickel shook his head. “Probably not, but it’s a good start.”

“It is,” Roth agreed. “I hope it lasts, for his own sake! So, what was it he was so desperate not to show me?”

Nickel turned serious in an instant. “It’s rather sensitive. If I tell you, you have to promise not to let the boy know that you know.”

Roth promised.

“Well, what he implied about his last master wasn’t an exaggeration, quite the other way around. A few days ago, he let me see him in the nude, and… He’s badly scarred.”

“Scarred? From what?”

“I’m not sure,” Nickel answered, looking dismayed. “I’ve never seen anything like it, there are scars all over.” Nickel put his elbows on the desktop and rubbed at his temples. “The inside of his thighs… I can’t even imagine what’s caused the type of scarring I saw, and one of his nipples is missing.”

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?” Roth didn’t get what his boss was talking about.

“I don’t know. It’s gone! There’s only a large scar across his chest.”

“Good, God!” Roth echoed Nickel’s earlier shocked exclamation. 

His boss still looked as dismayed. 

“Don’t tell me there’s more,” Roth said. 

“I’m afraid there is,” Nickel answered. “Though in a way, I suppose, it’s not as physically damaging, but… The man had him tattooed, as well. There’s a black tattoo this big,” Nickel showed with his hands, “spelling out ‘whore’ across his lower back and there’s an arrow underneath, as well, pointing down to… well, to his… hole…”

“What the fuck!” Roth said. Nickel’s description made him angry. What kind of sadist would do that to a helpless kid? He would have punched the fucking bastard in the face, had he witnessed that. “What sick mind even comes up with things like that?” he said, upset.

“I don’t know,” Nickel answered, “but I sure as hell would like to find out.” 

There was a hateful glimmer in Nickel’s eyes, startling Roth. 

“Do you think you could find information on that owner, as well?” Nickel asked. “His name is in Taven’s papers, so he shouldn’t be hard to find, right?”

Roth peered at his friend in suspicion. “Well, yeah, it would probably be a piece of cake, but… You wouldn’t do anything stupid now, would you?”

Nickel smiled, though that weird shimmer in his eyes didn’t go away. “Oh, of course I’d never do anything stupid. I only want to know what kind of man this is. Please try to find out everything you can.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Roth said, but this time the phrase wasn’t followed by its usual ‘tongue in cheek grin’.


	11. That Glorious Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short, so this will be another Double Post Sunday. Hope you enjoy. :-)
> 
> /Fran

Nickel looked back and forth between the two shirts he held up, but then he shook his head and rejected them both, putting them back on the rack. 

He’d skipped his early walk this morning, too, spending the time with Taven, taking the boy’s measurements. Shortly after, he’d gone into the city. Nickel had been excited at first, heading to the mall and the more expensive boutiques on the top floors. Shopping for his first personal slave would be a fun day out. 

Nickel remembered a Christmas Eve, many years ago, when their parents had given him and his little brother a hamster. On Boxing Day, their parents had taken them back to the pet shop so they could buy supplies for the small fluffy animal. Nickel could still recall how much fun it had been, choosing brightly colored toys for the new pet. He’d been young enough he’d imagined the little rodent would be happy and excited about getting toys, and this had made him happy, too. 

However, this wasn’t as fun as it could have been. Nickel would have much preferred if he could have taken the boy with him. He would have liked seeing the slave trying different things on, getting him excited about the shopping. However, Nickel had realized right away that it wouldn’t be a good idea. In spite of the slave’s apparent willingness to behave lately, Nickel didn’t trust him nearly enough to take him outside the estate. If Taven talked out of turn in public, or threw a fit over something, it could prove disastrous. 

The fact he wasn’t free to choose whatever he wanted for the boy also put a damper on the whole thing. Several times already, he’d picked up a shirt he thought would look absolutely smashing on the slave, only to realize the sleeves were too short, or the neckline too low – it would reveal the scarring. A pair of shorts, for the coming summer heat, was out of the question. Nickel started to get annoyed about all the nice pieces of clothing he had to put back. 

Well, he had plenty of time, and money was no objection. He was confident he’d be able to piece together a wardrobe that would make the boy comfortable, as well as satisfy his own need to bring out the slave’s good looks.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel returned to the mansion around noon, with the car packed full of bags. He had a few slaves carry it all down to Taven’s room and dump it on his bed.

The boy stared. “I’m gonna wear all that?” he asked when the slaves had left the room, not a small amount of worry in his voice. 

“Well,” Nickel said. “Yes, most of it, I hope. We will of course try things on and see how it fits. Whatever is not right, I’ll return. I’ll even let you decide, within reasonable limits. If you absolutely hate something, I’ll take it back.”

“But, I don’t know what the fuck to… I’ve never…”

“Don’t worry,” Nickel said, trying to sound encouraging. “I’ll help you.” 

Nickel turned to rummage through the pile of shopping bags on the bed. He’d bought practical and necessary items, such as underwear, socks and shoes, but he shoved those bags aside. He was eager to see Taven in something more decorative. “Here, try this on,” he said, pulling out a pair of tight black pants and a likewise black slim-fitting turtleneck sweater.”See the sleeves and the neck?” he pointed out, when the boy hesitated. “This will cover you properly. Well? Go on! Take it! You don’t have to change before me; you can use the bathroom again.”

Taven received the clothes, but Nickel stopped him on the way to the bathroom door, with a gentle hand on his arm. “Wait,” he said. “When you have changed, take your hair out of the braid. I’d like to see it.”

The worried look on the slave’s face didn’t escape Nickel, but there were no protests. Much like the last time Taven silently sneaked into the bathroom with the clothes in his hands. Nickel shoved a few more bags to the sides and sat down on the bed, eagerly waiting for the boy to return. 

Uncharacteristically shy, Taven sneaked back out, and awkwardly stood before him to be inspected, twitching nervously, not looking at him. 

Nickel wasn’t prepared for the sight. 

The pants and sweater he’d chosen might not reveal much of Taven’s skin, but they showed off the delicacy of his slim frame perfectly. Black was definitely the boy’s color, Nickel decided, highly pleased with what he saw. The creamy paleness of Taven’s face together with the redness of his hair stood out dramatically. “Turn around,” Nickel ordered.

Taven obeyed, and Nickel could do nothing else than gasp. The slave’s hair flowed down his whole backside, shiny and slightly wavy, to end up somewhere close to his ankles. Nickel had never seen such a mass of hair in his life. He was speechless, his heart beating faster. 

“I… This is… Wow!” he finally managed. “Taven, you’re… If the trader had asked a thousand times more than I paid for you, I would have given him twice that amount again, without blinking. You are _that_ beautiful.”

“Uh… What the fuck, Master,” Taven murmured without turning back.

Nickel smiled, amused at how his open admiration seemed to embarrass Taven. At the same time, he found it sad how the boy obviously wasn’t used to hearing this kind of compliments. He should be. 

He got up from the bed, walked over to Taven and reached a hand out, but let it linger in mid air. Never had he been so eager to touch someone’s hair, but he wanted to be careful. He forced himself to take it slow. “You are very good-looking, boy,” he said. “All black suits you well and… I want to touch your hair,” he finally admitted. “Will you let me do that?”

The boy huffed contemptuously. “Uh, yeah; you like, paid for it, Master, you know,” he murmured, still turned away from him. “What the hell are you asking me for?”

“I’m fully aware of my rights,” Nickel answered. “It doesn’t mean I should needlessly scare you.”

“I ain’t scared,” the boy snarled.

Nickel wasn’t so sure. He could clearly see how tense the boy was. 

“I really only want to touch your hair,” Nickel assured him, placing his hand gently on the boy’s head. “I wouldn’t do anything else to you…” Oh, God, he thought, his hand sliding along the boy’s back. The hair was so fantastically smooth and soft. He gathered it at Taven’s neck, lifting it. It was thick and heavy in his hand. “I didn’t realize,” he said, “just how long it is. It’s fantastic! They never cut it?”

“No,” Taven said, not relaxing one bit. “Nobody ever touched it since I was born.” 

“Amazing!” Nickel let up a happy sigh, lost in the look and feel of the red strands.

“Is that… Is that, like, enough to- to…? Does it make up for how shitty I look?” the slave asked, his shoulders coming up.

The question brought Nickel out of the spell. He stopped touching the slave’s hair, letting the hand fall to his side. “You don’t have to ‘compensate’ for your damages,” he said, ill at ease. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you _want_ a slave who looks like this,” Taven replied.

What could Nickel answer? In one aspect, it was of course true.

“I did _not_ want someone to have done that to my property, no,” he finally said. “Don’t worry,” he added. I’ve already told you, it has no bearing on your ability to function as my attendant. We have other more pressing things to think about. I’ve been leaving you idle in here for far too long. I think it’s high time I start to teach you things.”

The slave finally turned back. “What ‘things’?” he asked, suspicion radiating from his whole being.

“You’ll see!” Nickel answered. “But here’s one lesson for you already. You do _not_ question your master in such a way.”

The boy didn’t look up, stayed quiet, and chewed on his lower lip.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Nickel said, smiling again. “It’s nothing painful, and nothing too difficult, I should think. We’ll start early tomorrow morning, but for now… We had better keep going through this pile of clothes if we will have any chance of trying it all on before midnight.”

Taven sighed deeply. “Yes, Master,” he murmured.

\-----o0o-----

Taven had been told to be ready for his master picking him up after breakfast, and he had no fucking idea what this even meant. Be ready? For what? How did you look when you were ‘ready’? He’d supposed it at least meant being clean and dressed. Clean he could do, he’d live in the bathtub if it was possible, dressed was another thing.

His former master had wasted as little as possible on him, and had skimped on everything, food, clothes, medical care… Taven had gotten enough to eat not to actually starve to death, but not a crumb more. Clothing him had sure as hell not been a priority. Once, Swift had given him an old t-shirt, only long enough to cover his ass, and he’d worn it until it had literally fallen off. Taven had loved the simple clothes they had given him at the slave market, he hadn’t been that fully covered up in years.

This though, was overwhelming. He kept staring into the closets, his new master’s purchases filling them up completely. How the fuck should he ever know what he was supposed to wear from all this? 

Finally, he decided to put on the exact same clothes that had made his master ‘go wow’ the day before; the first stuff he’d tried on. His master had obviously liked the outfit, so he couldn’t go wrong putting it on again, could he?

He shuddered when he thought about the moment when he’d first stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in this. Taven had been convinced he would be fucked right then and there. He’d seen the interest in the man’s eyes. Nothing of the sort had happened. His master had only touched his hair, in the gentlest of ways. Not that he didn’t know what that meant. This man wasn’t the first owner of his who was fucking turned on by long hair. It was only a question of time, and the man would fuck him, all right. 

Still, Taven couldn’t forget the spontaneous ‘wow’ his master had uttered when he’d seen him with his hair out of the braid. It must be a good thing, better than nearly throwing up, anyway.

He waited for his master, standing beside the bed, dressed all in black, but he’d made sure to braid his hair tightly again.


	12. Sharks and Creepy Classrooms

Taven followed his master through the house with unease. This building wasn’t only huge; it was a fucking maze, too. It seemed like rooms, hallways, and stairs had just been added on throughout centuries without any sort of thought or plan. The stairs twisted and turned, and every nook and cranny big enough to fit a human seemed to have a door. It would be just as well if his master wouldn’t allow him free movement of the place, as he’d never find his way around anyway. 

They seemed to walk forever upward as well, and when his master finally stopped, Taven thought they must be in the attic. 

His master unlocked the door in front of them, and it gave up an ominous creak as he opened it into what looked like a large dark hall. The man stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. Taven did so with some reluctance, scared it might be another place to lock him up, one that wasn’t as nice as his room downstairs, or even worse; a place for punishment.

Taven heard several switches flicked behind him, and overhead, fluorescent lights slowly blinked to life, filling the room with a low humming noise. 

His master gave up a displeased muttering sound. “I have to have the light fixtures taken care of up here,” he said. “Well,” he continued. “Go inside and have a look about!” 

Taven obeyed and took a few more steps into the room. The hall was both long and wide and high up, above his head, the roof trusses were laid bare. A number of chairs and desks were placed out in neat rows on the creaky floorboards, and large bookcases and display cases lined the walls. He started to walk along the windowless wall to the right, peeking through the dusty glass panes of the display cases. 

What the fuck, what kind of creepy place was this? He’d never seen so much weird stuff in his life. 

In the first case he looked into, there were only rocks. Some were gray and lumpy; looking like someone had just picked them up from the roadside, while others glittered in all kinds of colors. Another contained spiked and twisted seashells, and yet another held rows of boxes filled with jewel-like beetles and butterflies.

The following cases contained even more dead animals, staring at him with glassy eyes, frozen in time in dramatic poses, perched on wooden stands. He saw a cat, and a squirrel and lots and lots of birds. Then there were these strange glass jars, and when he looked closer, they too held many dead animals, floating around in some disgusting yellowish fluid. The creatures were pale and yellowish, too, having lost all natural color. He recognized some mice, and snakes, and an enormous bloated frog, but other jars contained life forms that he couldn’t even guess what the fuck they were. 

He was relieved when the macabre displays stopped, but the rest of the cases were no less mysterious with all their strange instruments, twisted glass bottles and tubes, big globes with maps, and funny wire gadgets with red and white balls. 

When he reached the end, he noticed a strange shadow around his feet and turned to look up. 

“What the fuck!” Taven yelled, jumping aside at the nightmarish creature that he found hanging above his head. Heart thumping he returned to look at the object properly. It was some kind of fish, he could see that now, suspended from the beams overhead with thick wires, but it was the biggest and freakiest kind of fish he’d ever seen. 

His master laughed. “Taven, meet Nancy! Isn’t she magnificent? She’s a genuine Sphyrna Mokarran.”

“Mock… What?”

“It’s a kind of shark,” his master clarified, “a Great Hammerhead shark.” 

“That- that thing for real?” Taven stared. No way could a real fish be this big and have such a fucked up head. 

“Of course she’s real. Poor Nancy was fished out of the ocean over a hundred years ago and ended up here, stuffed and hanging from the beams.”

“Why do you call it ‘Nancy’?” Taven asked, unable to look away from the strange animal, still struggling to take in the sheer size of it.

His master smiled. “Oh, it’s just a silly nickname my brother and I gave her when were children and had just learned it was a female. Maybe one day we can visit her ‘home’, have a seaside holiday and take a swim in the ocean,” he added.

Taven stared at the monster and the rows of sharp teeth in its mouth. Was his owner crazy? “I ain’t ever gonna go into no ocean with things like that in it, Master,” he said. “Whip me all you like.”

Again, there was a soft laugh beside him. “All right, I guess those holiday plans are cancelled then.” The man turned around with a sweeping gesture. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s fucking creepy as hell,” Taven murmured. He still had no idea what he was doing in here. One of his hands went for the closest standing desk and he swept his fingers across the desktop. They left trails in a deep layer of seemingly age-old accumulation of dust. “You’re gonna make me clean all this, or what?” he asked, more than worried. It would take him forever.

“Yuck,” his master exclaimed. “I suppose this room do need a thorough cleaning, no one’s been in here for thirteen years. That’s not why I brought you here, though. Cleaning is not the kind of work I have in mind for you.”

Taven was relieved to hear that at least.

“This is a classroom, Taven,” the man went on. “My brother and I was homeschooled here as children. When I was thirteen years old, I started going to a public school in the city instead. It was quite the drastic change, but my father thought it was high time I ‘broadened my experiences’. 

Taven stared at his master. “I’m gonna go to school?” he asked, stunned. He knew free kids went to school, of course he did, but he’d never heard of any slave ever doing that.

“Not as such,” the man said. “Slaves do of course not go to school. There are still many things I’d like to teach you, and this is a practical space. There’s plenty of room, all the books you’ll ever need, as well as other things that might prove useful. Well, we’ll work out a schedule for your lessons and training sessions, so, I guess we could call it ‘going to school’ if you’d like us to.” He smiled.

Taven restlessly walked away from his master while he talked, as if he subconsciously was looking for a place to hide from this awful prospect. No, he wouldn’t like to ‘call it school’; he’d liked it if the man wouldn't force him to learn a lot of stuff at all. Taven knew he wasn’t very smart. Many people had told him, on more occasions than he could remember, just how stupid and dumb he was. He’d found no reason not to believe them. 

He walked along the bookcases lining the wall at the other side of the room. Tall, narrow, windows interrupted the overstuffed shelves with regular intervals, and dust particles swirled in their dim light when he ran his hand along the book spines. There must be thousands of books here. His master did know he couldn’t read, right? 

Taven speedily retrieved his hand when, instead of another window, there was a niche in the wall between two bookcases, containing a complete human skeleton staring at him with empty eye sockets and an everlasting grin.

“Fuck! This place is so fucking creepy," he repeated, staring at the mounted human remains. “Who was that?”

His master laughed again. “I don’t know; he, or she, is over a hundred years old as well. We’ll make it less ‘creepy’, Taven,” he said. “I’ll send up the maids to dust, and I’ll call an electrician to come change these flickering lights. We should bring in some green plants, too, when they have cleaned the windows enough to let in some actual daylight. It will be much brighter and nicer, you’ll see.”

Yeah, Taven thought, he didn’t think potted plants could help this place. If he was locked in here at night, or something, he’d still fucking freak out. He should probably just shut up about how eerie this room was and not give his new owner ideas.

His master walked to the end of the hall, grabbed a rag from a big black board behind a single larger desk, and shook it. He returned to the desk Taven had touched earlier and wiped it off, coughing at the dust cloud he created. “This will have to do, for now,” he said, dropping the rag on the floor under the desk. “Come back here, and sit down, Taven,” he ordered. “That’s enough looking about, time to start!”

Taven walked across the floor and sat down on the chair his master indicated. The man remained standing at the other side of the desk, staring sternly at him.

“We have to do something about the way you speak, boy,” he said.

Taven gulped and looked down. He’d said some really shitty things and he’d known there would be punishment to come. “I said I won’t yell at you, and- and say a lot of shitty things anymore,” he tried, reminding his master he’d promised to behave. However, it likely wouldn't save him from facing the consequences of his earlier dirty mouth. 

“Not insulting your master and not yelling at him is indeed a good start, boy,” the man said; a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “But it’s not what I’m referring to here; I am talking about the way you’re speaking overall.”

Taven looked up, puzzled. He didn’t get it. What was wrong with the way he spoke? Didn’t he speak like most people spoke?

His master must have noticed his befuddled expression. “The way you speak, boy… Your accent, it’s horrible. I understand you’re trying to behave, but every other word you say is a curse, and all these ‘gonnas’ and ‘wannas’ and the ‘kindas’ and the ‘likes’ and ‘aint’s’... It sounds very bad, Taven. We can’t have that.”

“But- but…” Taven protested. “But what the fu… Uh, I don’t mean all that, like, in a _bad_ way. The way you speak, it just sorta comes out on its own, and- and… I mean, how you gonna change that? I- I can’t. You gonna beat me for that?”

His master sighed and shook his head, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not going to beat you. It’s not an entirely conscious act, I understand it’s not, but I don’t at all think you can't change it. You will have to be more aware of how you speak, and work on changing. If you practice enough, eventually a better way of speaking will be just as natural, and then _that’s_ what will ‘come out on its own’.”

Taven looked at his master in desperation. He didn’t think he was capable of changing in such a way. How would he even know what to ‘be aware of’, what the right way of speaking was? Ironically, Swift had been less demanding about some things, he realized. His former master had usually not wanted to hear him talk at all, being constantly annoyed with his mere existence. Most of the time, he’d simply roared at him to shut up, and then he’d hit him if he made a single sound. Swift had never said anything about _how_ he spoke. 

Again, his master might have read his expression. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “I’ll help you. I’ll teach you, and remind you. As long as you’re trying, I won’t punish you.” 

Taven didn’t feel encouraged in the least. This ‘learning shit’ would _so_ go to hell.

His master looked stricter again. “I must insist you learn other things sooner, boy,” he said. “You can’t keep talking out of turn like this, questioning things, talking back, blurting things out, especially not in public. You have to learn to be more careful about how you address me, as well. I’d like to hear ‘master’ a bit more often when you speak with me.”

Taven gaped. Just how many things were he supposed to know and remember that was only about speaking? He hung his head. He would have preferred it if this master, too, had just told him to shut the fuck up forever. 

“Well? Have you understood?” his master demanded.

“I guess,” Taven murmured.

Again, there was a deep sigh above him. “’I guess,’ what?” 

Taven looked up. “I guess… Master?” he tried carefully.

The man smiled widely. “Ah, you’re learning already. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. 

His master left the desk and walked up and down the bookcases, obviously looking for a certain book, soon returning with one in his hand. “I thought we would combine this process with something else that I’d also like to teach you,” he said. “I think it will make things easier for you, at least in the long run.” The man put a book on the desk before him.

Taven’s stomach knotted up. He’d feared this. His master would demand he learn impossible stuff. He couldn’t learn how to read, he just couldn’t. He’d looked at text before, and it was only a completely meaningless jumble of black specks to him. There was no fucking way in hell he could ever learn to understand all that. _No fucking way_.

The man put a couple of fingers on the book and pushed it closer. “Aren’t you even going to look at it?” he said. 

Taven peeked. It was a small and thin book, looking old and worn with a stained cover and a broken spine. There was a picture of a rooster with many colorful feathers on it. “What is it?” he asked. “Master,” he added, reminding himself what he’d just been told. 

“It’s a spelling book,” his master explained. “Small children use these when they first learn their ABCs.”

“I ain’t a small kid,” Taven said, miffed. 

“Well, at what age level would you say your reading skills are then?” the man retorted.

Taven felt his ears go hot. “What the fuck, Master, I can’t read at all. You _know_ I can’t. They don’t teach you that.”

“I remember you telling me, yes,” his master answered. “You’re correct, usually most slaves are not taught how to read and write, but some are. As far as I know, exotics _are_ taught at least the basics, but obviously, they’ve neglected this part of your training, too. Well, we’ll rectify that. You’ll learn this in no time.” 

Again, his master grinned as if he having learnt was already a fact. Taven might as well make the man disappointed right away, _and_ set him straight. “It ain’t like you bought a fucking genius, Master, you know. I can’t learn this.” 

His master shook his head. “I hardly think I bought an idiot either. Of course you can learn how to read.”

He had just been told he shouldn’t talk back, but he’d rather take a punishment for that than trying to learn this shit. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest in stubborn defiance. “I don’t get things like that, Master. I’m too fucking stupid, okay. Why do I need to know this anyway? I don’t need no damn reading to get fucked up the ass.” 

“Taven!” his master admonished. “That’s not appropriate. I’ve already told you, it’s not why I bought you.” 

The man sighed, but didn’t seem angry. “It’s simply practical to know how to read and countless situations where it’s useful. I know some wouldn’t agree with me, but I think it’s important _all_ your slaves know how to read and write. When I took over here, I made sure they were all taught, and I’m convinced the house has benefited. _I_ would definitely benefit from my personal slave knowing how to read. It’s not only about practical matters, Taven; there’s personal satisfaction, joy and confidence in knowing such things, as well.”

Taven stared. So, okay, he’d buy that it could be useful for the owner, but what did ‘joy’ have to do with it? He had no idea what the fuck his master was on about, other than it looked like he wouldn’t get out of this no matter what he said. He had no more arguments anyway. Taven could repeat he was too stupid to learn, but his master didn’t seem to accept it as the truth that it was. He glared at the man. 

“Well, as I said,” his master went on, a small teasing smile on lips. “In this house they _all_ know how to read and write. You wouldn’t want to be the only one who doesn’t, would you?”

“I fucking _can’t_,” Taven blurted out, desperation making him careless. “I’ve told you, I’m too fucking stupid. You’re gonna make me try, and then you’re gonna fucking beat the shit out of me when I can’t.”

“For goodness sake, boy!” His master came around to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “If it turns out you are unable to learn, then what kind of monster would I be if I beat you? I only want you to try, Taven. Try, and do your best, it’s all I demand.”

Taven looked up in suspicion. “That true? You won’t get mad?”

His master shook his head. “If you’re not trying, if you give up before you even start, if you lie to me, and try to get away from things, then I’ll be mad. If you give things an honest try, and work hard, but fail… No, that won’t make me angry with you, boy.”

Taven stared. He’d never heard anyone say stuff like that before.

His master pushed the book closer still. “Let’s give it a try,” he said.

Taven put a tentative hand on the book. “Okay, Master,” he finally agreed.

The man smiled like the sun. “Good, Taven!” He pulled a chair over from a nearby desk and sat down beside him, opening up the book. 

The page showed another colorful image, this time of a big red apple. A bite was taken out of it, and underneath there was a large black angled symbol. 

His master put an index finger on the page, pointing at the symbol. “All right, the first letter of the alphabet is, A…”


	13. Excuses in the Face of Temptation

Nickel looked about the classroom with a pleased smile. 

It was amazing, the kind of ‘magic’ you could work, in no time at all, when you had a house full of slaves. Yesterday, he’d given Taven his first lesson in a gloomy attic space where daylight struggled to penetrate the dirty windows. This morning, the boy sat at the same desk before him in a bright room without a speck of dust. There were plants in the windows, and the old wooden floorboards smelled of soft soap. He had contacted an electrician, as well, and he would come in tomorrow to get rid of the annoying fluorescent lights. Nickel would buy a new computer, too, only for the classroom, and then they would be set.

Yes, it was already considerably nicer in here, though he suspected Taven still found it somewhat ‘creepy’. The antique Natural Science paraphernalia remained, after all. It was an interesting collection, which had educated many generations of Wren children, and maybe Taven would learn to appreciate it still. However, he’d proven a less than enthusiastic student, so far.

Nickel stopped smiling.

In fact, it had been a struggle to make the boy open a book at all, and learning the alphabet hadn’t come as easy as Nickel had expected. However, eventually Taven had managed to memorize a few letters. Nickel hadn’t lost hope and believed in further progress. He was eager to continue with the rest of the alphabet today. 

It was sad then that first he had to bring up something completely different.

“Taven,” he started, uncomfortable but determined to get an answer. “Yesterday, while we were up here, a maid cleaned your room.”

He let those words sink in, and by the flush that crept over the boy’s face Nickel could see he had probably understood what his master had found out.

“They- they clean my room?” 

The slave sounded as if he’d never even considered this a possibility.

“They haven’t up till now,” Nickel explained. “I told them to leave you alone as much as possible, but eventually it has to be cleaned of course. Yesterday morning was a good opportunity.”

The boy cringed in the chair and didn’t know where to look.

Nickel might as well be blunt. “Taven, why on earth were you hiding food under your bed?” 

He’d been stunned when the maid had showed him smelly half-rotten, or dried up, ‘packages’ of rolled up toilet paper, full of all kinds of food, fuzzy balls of dust and mold clinging to them. It had been disgusting, and Nickel couldn’t even begin to understand the macabre ‘collection’ she had brought him. Keeping something like that under your bed was such a strange and disturbing thing to do. Nickel needed an explanation.

Much as he’d expected, though, the slave didn’t answer and kept avoiding his eyes. 

“If you didn’t like the food,” Nickel carefully prodded, “or if it was too much for you to finish the plates, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have been angry. We could have…”

“That ain’t fucking it, Master,” Taven interrupted.

Nickel waited, but there was no further explanation. “If that’s not it, then I don’t understand why you would…” Then it struck him. “You weren’t… You weren’t actually _hoarding_ the food, were you?”

Again, Taven didn’t say anything, but the way he hung his head was answer enough. Nickel’s heart ached. What kind of life had the boy lived where he thought he needed to hoard food? He recalled the spoiled packages of steak and potato, vegetables and sliced fruit, vividly remembering the stench it had all omitted as he’d held the garbage bag under his nose. Nickel felt sick. 

Yes, he realized how underweight the slave was, but that he must have starved to such an extent he was prepared to eat spoiled meat and bread covered in mold in case his new master, too, would all of a sudden decide to hold out on the food, was shocking. Not for the first time he wondered what kind of monster Taven’s former owner really was.

Nickel rounded the desk, grabbed a chair and sat down next to the boy, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t need to do that. I promise there’s nothing you can do to make me withhold food as punishment. As long as there’s food in this house, I _will_ feed you properly, you hear me? I’d never inflict such abject cruelty on any of my slaves, least not you. For goodness sake, they wouldn’t even starve a convicted murderer in prison.” 

Taven hung his head in silence. “I ain’t gonna do it no more,” he finally murmured without looking up at him.

Nickel didn’t know if it meant Taven believed him, or if he’d only realized he couldn’t really hide things in his room anyway, but there was no use in pressuring him further.

“Good,” Nickel said and rubbed his back in comfort. The old spelling book was already laid out before them, opened at the spread where they had left off yesterday. “Let’s get back to the alphabet.” 

Still silent, Taven reached a hand out and pulled the book closer.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel’s habits changed. He no longer dragged at his morning routines only to make the hours pass. Monday through Friday, he dragged Taven up to the classroom instead.

The lessons usually lasted until lunch after which Nickel sent Taven out walking in the gardens, while he dealt with the paperwork in the study. In the afternoon, he sent the boy to his room with enough ‘homework’ to keep him busy until bedtime, while Nickel usually spent time in his private gym, Roth joining him on occasion. Nickel spent the evening in his rooms, watching TV, reading books, and… thinking about Taven. 

Of course, he could have the boy sent up, but… No, it was too soon. 

These routines were sometimes interrupted by other activities. He would go shopping in the city or skeet shooting with Roth, but overall the days were much the same. Still, Nickel wasn’t nearly as bored anymore. 

Teaching the new slave turned out to be interesting, to say the least. Sometimes Nickel had to laugh dryly at his own expectations prior to going to the slave market. He could never have imagined the challenges that lay before him. 

Nickel wasn’t prepared to agree with Taven’s own assessment he was too stupid to learn. They wouldn’t have chosen him for an exotic if he were. However, he wasn’t clear on what the problem was either. Taven didn’t _want_ to learn, Nickel thought, but he didn’t know if it was because the boy couldn’t see the benefits of book learning, if he was scared of failing – or scared of the consequences of failing – or if, maybe, he simply found it uninteresting and boring. After a particularly challenging morning, Nickel would say it was most likely all of the above. 

It was equally difficult to figure out how to tackle these challenges. Oh, in most cases there was simply nothing easier than to deal with slaves. You gave them an order, and if they knew what was good for them, they obeyed. However, Nickel soon realized it was nearly impossible to order someone to show genuine enthusiasm for something. He was convinced, when it came to things like reading, writing and math, _wanting_ to learn was the best way _actually_ to learn. Nickel was lucky to have had a few teachers who inspired their pupils, and in his opinion, studying shouldn’t be associated with fear and anger. He didn’t think it was possible to scare or threat Taven into wanting this and tried to teach accordingly. 

Nickel soon found out how hard it was to stay true to these convictions, and Taven strained his patience to its limits on an almost daily basis.

Taven didn’t get the concept of homework and looked completely dumbfounded when Nickel questioned him about things he should have practiced on his own. Sitting still in a chair and listen seemed like the biggest challenge the boy had ever faced. If he wasn’t twitching, squirming, or dropping things on the floor, he was yawning and hanging over the desk, seemingly unable even to stay awake while his master explained something. Nickel couldn’t believe his manner of teaching was that awfully boring. When he got annoyed and reprimanded the slave, strictly ordering him to sit up straight, Taven would try to be more attentive. Then, a few minutes later, there would be a minor setback and he would freak out instead.

Now and then, there were brighter moments. Taven would make an effort and it turned out he wasn’t half-bad, or he would finally succeed at something he had failed at before. Now and then, he made an observation, or even seemed interested in something, asking a question. Nickel made sure to commend Taven whenever those things happened, and there was no mistaking it, these moments made the slave both proud and happy, no matter how he tried to hide it. 

Every time, Nickel hoped it would mean a breakthrough, but as soon as he tried to take things to the next level, they were back to square one again. All earlier successes, or feelings of pride, seemed completely forgotten. Taven whined that he couldn’t do ‘brainy things’, and why wouldn’t his master: ‘just fucking give up already’. There was no use in even trying, and he’d never be good at ‘shit like this’.

Nickel simply couldn’t make the boy believe he wasn’t a complete idiot, and that his master wasn’t trying to prove this with every assignment he presented to him. Apparently, Taven rather angered him by being difficult than risked facing this ‘truth’.

He tried to remember this every time he felt like screaming at the boy and throw the books at him. Nickel struggled to remain patient and encouraging. He wasn’t prepared to give up on his ideals, and he always ended up biting back the harsh words brewing inside of him. Instead, he spent half the lesson assuring the boy nothing bad would happen if he only tried.

No matter how frustrating the bad moments were, the few moments of tranquility soon proved another kind of challenge. If the slave would manage to concentrate on something on his own for more than a few minutes, Nickel would sit down at the large teacher’s desk to watch him with a pleased smile, and… inevitably, his mind started to wander, from considering teaching strategies, to how damn cute Taven was. 

The long fair almost white eyelashes shading Taven’s freckled cheeks as he looked down on the page, silently mouthing the words and following the text with his fingers, the delicate line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulders, the long braid hanging down his slender back… Nickel liked what he saw. A lot.

If asked, Nickel would undoubtedly claim it was a bad idea to get sexually involved with a slave, though he hadn’t always managed to avoid the temptation. Under different circumstances, and against better knowledge, he would still most certainly already have tried to find out Taven’s inclinations, and if he would mind joining him in his bed at night. 

As it was, it would not be a good idea. Nickel had already seen how badly the slave reacted to thinking he would be sexually abused. He didn’t wish such stress on anyone, and things were complicated enough as it was.

Of course, in one aspect it might be the least complicated kind of sex in the world. If you truly didn’t care about the one beside you in bed, or what he or she thought of you, it could certainly provide good enough distraction, pleasure and fun, free from commitments and responsibilities. There were plenty of people who reasoned like that, Nickel knew, and whose main concern was only to find the slave who most lined up with their preferences in gender, looks and body type. 

Nickel wasn’t so inclined. He found the thought of the one he was having sex with secretly hating it, and wishing to be somewhere else, off putting, as well as a blow to his self-esteem. Oh, maybe he was only being selfish, who only wanted to have sex with someone he had reasons to believe actually desired him. Yes, maybe, but the outcome was still the same – in spite of the fact he had no problems whatsoever with ordering his slaves around when it came to everything else, he didn’t want to order anyone into his bed.

The problem was, simply asking your own slave, instead of ordering, usually didn’t solve the issue. How would you ever know what they really thought about it? They would only strive to tell their master and owner what he wanted to hear, wouldn’t they? 

This slave might be different, Nickel thought, from sheer lack of proper training and manners, if nothing else. If he were ever going to get an honest answer in this house, it would be from Taven. True, the boy had, in a way, ‘offered’ himself in the gardens, but considering how confused Taven had been that day, it hardly counted. For the moment, Nickel refrained from researching the matter closer, only because he was quite certain the answer wouldn’t be to his liking. 

He preferred not being called a ‘fucking faggot pervert’ again, after all, not if it could be helped.

Other concerns, Nickel dismissed. He whisked away all of them, like annoying mosquitoes. 

At seventeen, wasn’t the boy too young for him? Oh, it was only an age difference of nine years; it was nothing, really. Wouldn’t Taven have issues with his body that would complicate things? Oh, surely the boy would soon realize his master wouldn’t hold it against him, and then he would get over it. Would the slave actually want to be with another man at all, if he was able to choose? Oh, but since he was already, in a way, used to it, he surely wouldn’t mind a young, decently good-looking man, who wished nothing else than to be gentle with him. 

Yes, these concerns were actually of no concern at all, if he really thought about it. 

Nevertheless, Nickel wouldn’t push himself onto the boy, of course he wouldn’t. Taven was slowly starting to trust him, he thought, and he shouldn’t risk such shaky progress. If he could only prove his good intentions things would look different in a near future, he was sure. He would probe around for the possibilities when there was a bigger likelihood of a positive response. Until then he’d better think of other things, as difficult as it was proving to be.

It could be, apart from feeling sorry for the boy and genuinely wanting to help him, Nickel was now doubly motivated to look for signs of Taven becoming more comfortable around him. 

One morning, a little more than a week after he’d started giving Taven lessons, Nickel thought he could spot progress in this area as well.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel had started to teach Taven to write, which proved even harder than teaching him how to read. Reading was only a question of learning, remembering, and putting a book on the desktop in front of you, but writing added an aspect of fine motor ability that, apparently, was too much for the slave to handle.

He watched Taven wrestle with the pencil with a sense of hopelessness. The boy seemed completely unable to control the twitches in his arm, and constantly broke off the point. Taven became increasingly more frustrated and angry at every futile attempt to make the pencil in his hand obey him. Several times, he ended up cursing hotly and throwing the pencil across the hall, tears of anger standing in his eyes. Nickel forced him to go pick up the pencil and try again – only to have the whole process repeat itself a few minutes later. 

Nickel couldn’t comprehend how such a simple thing could be so hard to master and he didn’t know what to do. He soon realized his irritation and reprimands didn’t help in any case. The more upset Taven became, the worse he did. 

Struck by a sudden idea, Nickel sat down beside him and closed his hand around Taven’s smaller hand. Slowly he steered Taven’s hand, physically helping him controlling the pressure. After almost half an hour of this, and papers full of scribbles, Taven seemed to get the hang of it. Nickel let go then, hoping the boy would continue on his own. Taven did. 

Pleased with the success of his idea, Nickel watched Taven getting lost in concentration, writing his name repeatedly in large sprawling capitals. His handwriting sure wasn’t a thing of beauty, resembling that of a four year old, but he was doing it. No more broken points. That’s when Taven seemed to become annoyed at his long sleeve dragging across the paper. He simply pushed it up to his elbow and went on writing.

Nickel stared. Since the first day – with the exception of that time in the gardens, when Taven had stripped off his clothing in a sort of desperation – the slave had been careful not to show any skin, except for his face and hands. Nickel had never even seen Taven expose his wrists before. Now, he bared half his arm and seemed to think nothing of it, even though Nickel was sitting right beside him. 

He doubted this meant Taven was all right with showing him his scars all of a sudden, but that he was simply relaxed enough not to realize what he’d just done. 

The thought of Taven being this much at ease around him made Nickel warm inside, but he said nothing, not wanting to ruin Taven’s concentration, or make him self-conscious. 

However, seeing the scarring on Taven’s arm, the warm feeling soon turned into shame. Nickel had avoided dealing with the slave’s damages, again. He simply _had_ to have Taven properly examined. 

After the lessons, he would call the clan’s family doctor first thing.


	14. Nursery Rhymes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as chapter 14 is very short, it's time for another double post this week. Hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> /Fran

Taven crawled up into the corner of his bed and sighed deeply as he leaned against the wall and opened a book from a pile on his table. He had to admit, when all these confusing black lines, dots and symbols suddenly started to convey a meaning to him, it had been cool, but these books were just fucking stupid anyway. The fact he could barely read the short sentences didn’t mean that ‘Mary had a little lamb’ wasn’t completely fucking idiotic, once he got it that that was what it said. Who the hell was she, and why the fuck would he care about her sheep, and where they all went? Free people read stuff like this? What the fuck? 

He couldn’t concentrate on that shit and let the book close up and slide down into his lap.

His master kept claiming reading was supposed to be good for you, that it was ‘fun’ and useful. Taven couldn’t see it. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d throw away these ridiculous books, but it wasn’t worth the risk of his master finding out. 

Not that he knew what the consequences would be if he did do something like that, since his new master was just such a fucking weird guy.

The weirdest wasn’t that the man insisted he learn to read and write. As useless as it seemed to Taven, he couldn’t say he knew how things were done in houses like this, after all. Maybe it was just normal around here that slaves were taught and the master acted the teacher. No, it was the man himself. Several weeks into his new life and Taven still couldn’t figure his owner out. 

Several weeks, and his master hadn’t hit him once. Not once. 

Taven admitted, sometimes, he deliberately tried to provoke the man to. Not like back at the slave market or on those first days here, when he still thought he preferred the man send him back. No, he wouldn’t act quite that badly. Taven didn’t want to go too far, he wanted to stay, after all, but he couldn’t help, to, sort of, test the limits. 

He cursed and yelled when he couldn’t do stuff, which apparently even small kids managed, sulked, whined, and was being all around difficult, threw things and told his owner he was fucking wrong if he thought his new slave could ever learn anything. Yes, he provoked his owner, but he didn’t bother planning it, or faking stuff. Now and then, Taven simply let go and showed openly what he really felt and thought about things, that was all. 

Yeah, just being himself should soon provoke any free person into showing _their_ true colors, but… Not this man. 

It wasn’t as if he wanted to be beaten, but this whole situation wasn’t normal, and it made him uneasy. If the man would only slap him when he acted out, then at least something around here would make some damn sense. 

It sure didn’t make sense that the man would be that nice and have that kind of patience. 

Actually, sometimes it seemed as if his acting out only made the man more patient and nice. Instead of beating him, his master firmly calmed him down, had him try again, talked to him, and tried to find new ways to help him get through the assignments. 

Taven didn’t know what to make of it. One part of him couldn’t help feeling good in those moments. It did feel good when someone, sort of, steadied him before he completely spun out of control. It felt great, too, to succeed where he’d failed before, even if it was at something boring he didn’t care about. It felt especially good when his master said he’d done well, when he smiled at him, and patted his shoulder, or caressed him over the hair. 

He didn’t like feeling good in those ways. It only made him more confused, and he had no idea how to react to it. Yes, he wanted this life, it was the best he’d ever had, after all. He wanted this comfortable bed, and the warm water, he wanted the food, his name, and the lack of abuse, but those good moments with his master… No, he didn’t want that. 

A master making you feel like that; it was just scary.

Taven was convinced it was only a trick anyway. His master was just trying to fool him into actually liking all this learning stuff. As if. 

He hated it. He hated the classroom with all its creepy old stuff, he hated learning, and he hated these fucking books. People used to tell him how stupid and worthless he was – Swift had told him he was a useless retard every fucking day – but this man was different. So far, his new master had never said anything of the sort, but he didn’t have to. The man _showed_ him instead. By forcing him to learn these things, his master was constantly setting him up for failure.

Taven would rather the man fucked him, even if it hurt. At least he wasn’t half-bad at fucking, he thought. Of course, the men who had fucked him had rarely actually told him he was good at it, but most of them clearly got off, so he must have been doing something right.

Trick or no, he should just ignore any good feelings inside of him, and never openly show his master he had the power to make his slave feel like that. If he was smart, he’d stop provoking the man, start to behave as well as he could, and take advantage of his owner’s kindness – if that’s what it was – while it lasted. 

Taven had already started to test the waters, requesting things, something he’d never really dared before. Asking his former master about anything at all had been unthinkable. Swift would simply have beaten him within an inch of his life if he had so much as tried. In contrast, his new master was actually trying to make him ask questions. Of course, his master only allowed this curiosity in the classroom, and Taven was supposed to show interest in what the man taught him, but it made him daring.

One morning, when his master had seemed to be in a particularly good mood, Taven had asked if he could clean his room himself in the future, without any help from the maids. 

He’d been shocked when he’d learned the maids had cleaned his room. It had never even occurred to him that anyone would, or he wouldn’t have hidden the leftovers from his lunches and dinners under the bed. It had been so fucking embarrassing, how they’d found his hoard and had fucking showed it to the master. The man had looked at him as if he was the sorriest kind of freak he’d ever seen, but how the hell could he have known his master felt that way about withholding food? It was probably true, too. None of the other slaves here looked starved. 

Okay, he wouldn’t hoard food again, but he had other things to hide, and he didn’t want those fucking maids snooping around. 

Apparently, it had been the right kind of thing to ask. His master had smiled and said it was good he was ‘showing initiative’, whatever that meant. The man had allowed it, and a maid had shown him where the maintenance area was and where they stored the cleaning equipment. So far, he hadn’t actually used any of the cleaning stuff, though, and wasn’t planning to anytime soon either. He looked about the room; it had been more than a week, but it looked just fine to him. 

Yeah, Taven thought, this master, you could ask things. Imagine that. 

If he wanted to assure such success in the future as well, though, he probably should do this stupid ‘homework thing’ and keep practicing reading about that fucking lamb. Strange enough, not doing his homework made his master much angrier than he throwing pencils across the room. Taven sighed and picked up the book, trying to find the page where he’d left off, but a sudden knock on his door, followed by his master walking inside interrupted him. 

Taven hurried to get off to bed. “I _am_ reading it, Master,” he blurted out, holding the book up. The man usually never came down here in the evenings; obviously, it was some kind of surprise checkup.

His master smiled. “That’s good, Taven, but it’s not the reason I came. Sit down! I want to talk to you.”


	15. The Doctor Makes a House Call

“I ain’t gonna take my fucking clothes off,” Taven yelled, backing away from them. 

Dr. Cordeaux gasped at his side, and Nickel tried to press down his anger. Taven being difficult when they were alone was one thing, but it was very embarrassing when he acted like this in front of other people. It was especially infuriating considering Nickel had sat down with Taven the evening before, making sure to explain what would happen. 

Taven hadn’t liked it, but had seemed to understand it was for his own good. The boy had listened and promised to behave, a promise that seemed completely forgotten this morning.

“Why, I’ve never…” the doctor said.

“I do apologize,” Nickel said, turning to the old physician. “It’s only, he’s afraid, and…” 

The second he said it, Nickel realized it wasn’t only an excuse. Taven _was_ scared. His anger wore off. Trying to prepare Taven, as well as having the doctor come here, to look him over in the safety of his own room, wasn’t enough. To Taven, this was still a frightening and threatening situation. 

“He’s only scared,” he repeated.

“Oh,” Dr. Cordeaux said. He turned to Taven. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy. Your master and I only want to make sure you’re well.” He backed off a few steps, trying to give the boy some space in the small room. 

Bless the old man, Nickel thought, grateful for the doctor’s understanding and kindness. 

The clan’s family doctor since decades was a physician of the old school and ran a small private practice in the city. Now in his late seventies, Dr. Cordeaux had meant to retire years ago, but couldn’t entirely give up a profession he clearly loved. He’d closed his practice to the public, tending only to Nickel’s clan and their slaves these days, claiming it was fitting work for semiretirement. The old doctor rarely had to handle anything more severe than the occasional minor wound, a sprained ankle, a bad cold, or a round of vaccinations. 

If something more serious happened, Nickel would contact one of the bigger hospitals in the city, but for the smaller things, the familiar face of a doctor they had all known for ages, and who also happened to be a kind, caring and mild-spoken character by nature, was a comfort. 

Nickel wasn’t sure if Taven was a serious case, but there hadn’t seemed to be anything acutely wrong with him. He’d thought it best if the gentle old man – frail, small in stature, and the least threatening person he could think of – would have the initial look. He’d suspected it would be far less stressful than to bring the boy to the hospital. Taven had just shown him how correct he was. 

The slave was still on his guard, clearly not believing the old doctor’s words. 

“Dr. Cordeaux won’t hurt you,” Nickel assured him. “I’ll be staying right here in any case, and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

It didn’t seem to be what worried Taven the most. “He’s gonna see how shitty I look, and- and… He’s gonna tell you to get rid of me, Master,” he yelled, desperation in his voice. 

“No, no,” the old doctor protested. “It’s not at all my place to…”

“That’s complete nonsense, boy.” Nickel couldn’t help interrupting the doctor. “I’m fully capable of deciding such things for myself,” he added, annoyed at the implication other peoples’ opinions would influence him so easily. 

However, maybe it wasn’t what Taven meant to imply. Maybe he actually believed his master was considering selling him, in spite of it all. 

Nickel was just about to assure Taven it wasn’t the case, when Dr. Cordeaux forestalled him.

“I don’t do evaluations, boy,” he said, obviously having interpreted Taven’s words the same way Nickel had. 

Taven looked confused.

“I don’t examine slaves to value their worth,” the doctor clarified. “It’s not my job. I only treat peoples’ illnesses and injuries.” 

Taven looked back at him, suspicion still in his eyes. 

Nickel nodded in confirmation. “Dr. Cordeaux is telling the truth. He’s treated almost all the slaves in this house, at one time or another; and they all trust him. I know this isn’t easy for you, but a doctor is used to seeing all sorts of things, and they don’t care what people look like. They only want to make things better.”

Taven still hesitated.

“I want you to obey me, slave,” Nickel said, as strictly as he could without actually raising his voice. He wanted to reassure and calm Taven, but it was high time he asserted some authority here. “Now, take that shirt off, and show the doctor! No more talking back, and do _not_ curse at us again!”

Taven hung his head and didn’t answer, but he slowly unbuttoned his pajama top, eased it over his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Oh dear!” Dr. Cordeaux said, clearly shocked at what he saw.

Of course, Nickel had already described Taven’s damages over the phone, as best he could from memory, but seeing was different. 

“I’ve _never_…” the doctor started, clearly upset, but he cut himself short at Nickel’s pleading look, shaking head, and discreetly waving hand. 

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. They had agreed making a big affair of it wouldn’t be helpful. “Can I see your tattoo, as well, boy,” Cordeaux said instead.

Taven looked resigned now and slowly turned around with a deep sigh. He reached his hands back to put a pair of thumbs inside the elastic waistband of his pajama pants, and pulled them down a few inches. 

“Oh, dear,” the doctor exclaimed again. “Nickel, from what you’ve told me, and considering what I’m seeing here, it’s clear he needs a proper examination. It would be better if you brought him to my practice, but I could at least look at that awful tattoo while I’m here. I assume you want it gone?”

Taven spun around. “You- you… You can do that, Sir?” he asked, eyes wide with hope.

Nickel felt the same. “Is that possible?” he asked. 

“There are a few methods,” the doctor answered, “but they all have their drawbacks, and the result varies with the patient. I can’t think of anything that would make _that_ worse though,” he added, looking at Taven with sad eyes. “We’ll do what we can, boy,” he said. “No one should have to be marked in such an awful way. Why don’t you lie down on the bed, on your belly, so I can have a closer look?”

Hope seemed to make Taven cooperative, and he didn’t protest further. He climbed onto the bed, and slid down on his stomach, but he flinched violently when the doctor put his hands on his naked skin, showing how tense he still was. 

“That’s a good, lad,” the old man murmured soothingly. “…not going to hurt you…”

Nickel sat down at the bedside, next to Taven’s head. When the doctor carefully eased Taven’s pajama pants down over his hips, the boy closed his eyes tightly and grabbed a handful of sheet in each hand, squeezing the fabric in a white-knuckled grip. 

He put a hand over one of Taven’s, hoping the boy would understand he was trying to comfort him, and that his master wasn’t here to help the doctor overpower him. 

When nothing happened, other than the doctor stretching his tattooed skin, Taven seemed to relax. The tense fingers under Nickel’s hand eventually loosened its desperate grip of the sheet.

“What do you say, doctor? Can it be removed?” Nickel asked.

“Well,” the old man started. “This is not my area of expertise, but after our conversation yesterday I researched the matter and talked to a specialist. As far as I can tell, removing this with laser would be the best option. I was told the result is usually good when it comes to darker inks, especially on pale skin, and the risk of scarring is low. On the other hand, this is a large tattoo, and even a small one would require several sessions. Removing this will take a long time, I’m afraid.”

“How does it work?” Nickel asked, never having heard of this. Tattoos weren’t something he was familiar with overall. His father would have freaked out if he’d ever as much as hinted at getting one.

“The laser beam breaks down the ink, which is absorbed by the body, and so eventually the tattoo will fade,” Dr. Cordeaux explained. “However, this isn’t without consequence. The specialist recommended a healing period of several weeks in between each session. With a tattoo this big, you would have to treat it one small section at a time, as well.”

“Oh,” Nickel said. Somehow he’d thought it would be much faster, and not such a gradual, process.

“There isn’t a miracle cure,” Dr. Cordeaux said. “If you think it’ll be too much trouble, and if he’s not supposed to serve lightly dressed in any case, then…”

“No,” Nickel interrupted. “I want it gone. If it takes years, then so be it.”

Dr. Cordeaux nodded with a serious expression. “I’ll give you the specialist’s number.” He patted Taven lightly on the back. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me, boy?”

Taven rose up on his elbows and looked back at the doctor over his shoulder. “Uh, I get to…? Does it hurt, Sir?”

Nickel raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Taven could be reasonably polite, when he wanted to. 

“I won’t lie to you, boy,” the doctor answered. “The treatment isn’t painless. However, they say it’s usually not much worse than getting the tattoo in the first place.”

Taven gave up a small sneer. “I can take it,” he said, cocksure.

The doctor’s sad eyes took in the sight of Taven’s scarred back. “I’m sure you can, boy,” he said. “Well,” he went on. “Now that we’re talking, is there anything else that troubles you? Are you hurting anywhere? You can tell me.”

Dr. Cordeaux talked to Taven now as if he was a considerably smaller child, Nickel noted, but maybe that’s what it would take. Taven sunk back down on his belly though and shook his head. “No, Sir,” he murmured. 

Nickel knew it couldn’t be the truth. “Answer the doctor,” he said.

Dr. Cordeaux shook his head at him, as if to say he wasn’t helping. 

“Are you sure, boy?” he continued, in the same gentle, prodding manner. “It isn’t at all a bother, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I have all the time in the world. I don’t know what kind of doctors you’ve encountered before, but I assure you, I’m…”

“I only ever met a doctor once, Sir,” Taven interrupted, turning on his back and pointing to the big scar on his chest where his nipple had once been. “And he fucking did this to me.” 

Dr. Cordeaux looked at Nickel, but he could only shake his head. He had no idea; he’d avoided asking Taven about it.

“A doctor did this?” the old man asked. “What happened?”

If Nickel had thought it unlikely Taven would confide in the old man, he was wrong. Taven sat up in bed and turned to the doctor.

“It was Master Swift first,” he said.

“Swift?”

“It’s his former owner,” Nickel clarified.

“Yeah,” Taven confirmed. “He wanted to, like, have my nipples pierced, but he didn’t wanna pay for it.”

“He pierced your nipples himself?” Dr. Cordeaux said.

“Yeah,” Taven said. “I cried like a fucking baby and begged him not to do it.” He silenced, looking embarrassed. “I was just a whiny kid, Sir, you know. Anyway, he just told me to shut the fuck up, and tied me up, ‘cause I was too scared to stay still for it. He used, like… Like some old sy- sy… You know, like the druggies use.”

“A syringe?” Nickel said.

“Yeah, Master, that. It hurt like fucking hell, but I thought he was done.” Taven paused, sucking on his lower lip. “But- but then he said it was crooked, and he didn’t like it, so he did it again and… He pierced it _three_ times.”

Taven swallowed hard and looked down on his shaking hands. “He just fucking liked it when it hurt me,” he murmured.

Nickel was angry only listening to this. He wanted to go call Roth and tell him to find that bastard, Swift, for him, right now. Cordeaux must have noticed. He shook his head at him. It was his turn to remind they’d agreed not to make a big deal of things. Right. Nickel would keep calm and collected and let Taven finish. 

“What happened next?” Cordeaux asked, gently urging Taven on.

“He put an earring in it,” Taven continued, “and then he was gonna pierce the other, too, but he broke the needle. So, he just said, ‘to hell with it’, and I only had the one pierced. I don’t think he cleaned anything, and you gotta do that, Sir, right?”

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. “You’re correct, boy,” he said. “This is certainly not the way, and your instruments have to be sterile. Your former master behaved very irresponsibly.” 

Nickel clenched his fists behind Taven’s back, struggling to keep silent. 

“I assume it got infected?” the doctor asked further. 

“Yeah, Sir, it turned really bad.” Taven confirmed. “I begged him on my knees to take the ring out ‘cause it hurt _so_ much, and got worse and worse all the time. He just said he’d fucking kill me if I touched it.”

“Ngnn...” Nickel couldn’t help the repressed sound of anger. 

“Taven turned to him. “I don’t mean to swear this much, Master, but that was, like, what _he_ said.” He turned back to the doctor before Nickel could correct the misunderstanding. “I didn’t dare take it out, ‘cause Swift says he’s gonna fucking kill you, he ain’t joking, you know, but in the end it got so bad even he could see it.”

“He took you to a doctor, finally?” Cordeaux asked. 

Taven snarled bitterly. “Yeah, right, like he’d ever waste money on me. It wasn’t he. He had this guy over one night, and he told Swift if he didn’t take me to a doc, I was gonna die from it soon, for sure. Swift just told him to mind his own fucking business, but later, when Swift got drunk and fell asleep, that guy… He took me anyway.”

“That man brought you to a hospital?” Cordeaux asked. “And they did this?”

“No, Sir, it wasn’t a big place. It was just one doc in, like, a small room, with a lot of medical stuff, and shit.”

“It was a smaller private practice?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I don’t know, Sir. Anyway, it was a real doctor and all. He was fucking pissed off that we came that late, and said he couldn’t do anything about it ‘cause it was just too rotten, or something, and he was kinda drunk, anyway.”

“He was _drunk_?” Nickel interrupted. 

“Yeah, but the guy who took me there, he said he fucking owed him for something, so, he did it anyway.” Taven looked down again, and seemed to fight his tears at the memory.

“What did he do, boy?” Cordeaux asked, dismay written all over his face.

“He- he gave me a few shots, so I wouldn’t feel it, and then the other guy, he held me down and the doc… He cut the whole thing off, and- and sewed it up.”

“Quack,” Dr. Cordeaux shouted, making Taven flinch. “Bloody _charlatan_!”

Nickel jumped up from the bed and started to pace the small room. “If I ever get hold of that doctor…,” he yelled. He wasn’t able to hold back the anger any longer, not now that the old man wasn’t either. 

Taven looked back and forth between them with a gaping mouth, as if he didn’t understand why they both had become so angry.

“We’re not angry with you,” Nickel said in reply to that surprised and worried look, trying to get a grip of himself again.

“No,” the old doctor agreed. “We most certainly are not. We’re angry with the men who did this to you. I’m also very angry that a colleague of mine would act so irresponsibly. Do you know who this doctor was, boy?”

Taven slowly shook his head. “It’s not like anyone told _me_ anything, Sir.”

“Do you remember where his practice was located then?”

Taven shook his head again. “I was, like, all out of it, you know, with the pain and all. I haven’t a fucking clue where I was. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“It’s all right, “Nickel said. “I’ll put Roth on it. If anyone can find that doctor, it’s he.”

Taven didn’t seem to understand. “Why you wanna find that guy, Master?”

“Why? Because what he did was awful, and cruel. I’m not going to let him get away with it. Don’t you agree, doctor?” Nickel turned to the old man for support. “It can’t have been proper procedure? Isn’t what he did malpractice? It must have been illegal?” 

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. “It most certainly wasn’t proper procedure. Seeing patients after having been drinking, letting a person with no medical training assist… It’s impossible to know how badly infected his nipple was, but it doesn’t seem likely completely removing it was necessary. Even if that was the case, performing such an operation under those circumstances… I’m appalled. If we can find out who the man is, I’ll most certainly report him.”

Taven gave up a cynical snarl. “Nobody was ever angry with any of my owners for all the shit they did, and now you all wanna get at that guy? I don’t fucking get it.”

Dr. Cordeaux raised his eyebrows and stared at Taven. Nickel didn’t wonder at his surprise. Not only had Taven willfully disobeyed them, he was also swearing like a drunken sailor, and now he questioned them as well, making snarky comments, all but accusing them of hypocrisy. If the seriousness of Taven’s damages hadn’t distracted and worried the doctor, he would most likely have reacted sooner, and much stronger. The old man wouldn’t be used to slaves showing this kind of attitude. 

Nickel should probably reprimand the boy, but he had to admit Taven had a good point, and the slave really wasn’t stupid at all, was he? 

Whatever Dr. Cordeaux thought, he didn’t remark on Taven’s manners. “It’s different, boy,” he patiently explained instead. “A doctor has sworn an oath to practice under certain code, and there are laws which regulate what a licensed physician can and cannot do. It doesn’t matter _who_ he treats, when working, he’s to mind those rules. No laws of that type regulate what a free citizen can do to their property. A doctor could do what he wanted to his own slave on his own time, but as a _physician_ he wasn’t allowed to do what he did to you.” 

Taven still looked like he thought there was something fundamentally wrong with this, but if that was the case, he wasn’t able to formulate his concerns. He glared at them both, but said nothing.

The old doctor might have guessed at his feelings. “If you ask me, boy, then yes, I do think there’s a problem with this, but it’s how things are, and neither of us can change it. In the eyes of the law your former master did nothing wrong when he caused you this infection, but the doctor did something illegal when he treated you.”

The slave’s confused and dejected look at these words made Nickel’s heart bleed. He sat down beside the boy and put a comforting arm around him, caressing him over the head. Nickel leaned over to whisper in his ear. “The law might not support me,” he mumbled quietly, not wanting the old man to hear. “But if I only can, I’ll give Swift some trouble anyway. Be sure of it.”

Taven said nothing.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel walked the old man to his car, small talking about the spring weather, all the while pondering a, to him, more serious question. He opened the car door for the doctor who leaned in to put his bag on the passenger seat, but spoke again before the old man got in himself.

“Doctor,” he said. “Before you go, could I ask something of you?”

Dr. Cordeaux turned to him, holding up the open door with his elbow. “Of course, lad, what’s on your mind?”

Nickel smiled a little. There were few people he would accept calling him ‘lad’, but Dr. Cordeaux was one of them. The kind old man had bounced him on his knee as a small child, and given him lollipops when he’d bravely endured flu shots and similar nasty things. Nickel would be hurt if the doctor would start to be formal in private now, calling him ‘Lord Wren’, or ‘Sir’. 

“Have you talked to my father recently?” Nickel asked.

Cordeaux nodded. “I have, yes. The Head Lord and I had a conversation over the phone a couple of weeks ago. Your father mainly wanted to clear up some confusion regarding his new blood pressure medication. Everything seemed all right, though. Are there cause for worry?”

“No, no,” Nickel said. “Father’s fine. I only meant… Well, if you talk to him soon again, would you please not mention I bought this slave?”

“You didn’t tell him?” The old man shook his head. “I’ve always been under the impression Lord Wren doesn’t particularly care for being kept in the dark about things.”

Nickel sighed. The old doctor knew Lord Wren Senior well. “He doesn’t,” Nickel admitted, “but he also hates it when I make rash decisions. Well, you saw the boy, and, I’m sure, noticed his lack of manners. Father will be angry, and as little as the slave cost me, he’ll tell me I wasted money, and… Well, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. He was no doubt able to picture such a situation just fine. “Don’t worry, lad,” he said. “Your purchases aren’t any of my business, and there’s no reason to mention anything of the kind to anyone. I’d warn you, though. I wouldn’t be comfortable lying to Lord Wren, if he should ask me, but why would he, if he doesn’t know in the first place?” The old man cut himself short with a troubled look. “Though I can’t see how you _can_ hide this from him, not in the long run,” he added.

“Of course I can’t hide the slave forever,” Nickel agreed. “But I have a few months still. Father usually doesn’t come home until summer. Things will be different by then. I’m training the boy myself, and there’s some progress, and… Well, all I need is some time. I’ll straighten the slave out and all father will see is a nice-looking exotic and a well-mannered attendant. He will never have a reason to see him unclothed.”

Dr. Cordeaux smiled and patted his arm. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I won’t reveal your secret. You just bring the boy, any time it’s convenient, and I’ll call in a nurse and open up the practice for you. I’ll do what I can to help dress him up to your father’s satisfaction.”


	16. There Are So Many Things Wrong with Taven

Nickel waited in Dr. Cordeaux’s office, nervous and uneasy. 

He’d brought Taven to the practice early this morning, a few days after the old man’s visit to the mansion, and they had spent most of the day.

Nickel had feared Taven would make trouble. He’d even considered calling in Roth to assist, in case the boy would completely lose it the way he’d done at the slave market. In the end, he’d decided not to. Taven didn’t feel safe around his big friend, he had understood as much, and it might only make things worse. Besides, he really should be able to control the boy on his own. 

However, all his worries had come to naught. Taven had obeyed and followed quietly. He hadn’t been happy, and probably a great deal scared and apprehensive, as well, but he’d behaved.

It seemed the old doctor had managed to make some sort of impression on the suspicious slave, after all. Maybe it was Dr. Cordeaux’s nonthreatening appearance or perhaps the old man’s anger at how that other doctor had treated him. Nevertheless, Taven had stoically endured an examination that at times had been both difficult and intrusive, in spite of the old man’s gentleness. 

Nickel shuddered. He had most certainly not enjoyed this day either. The whole thing made him uncomfortable. 

He would have preferred it if he could have simply dropped Taven off at the practice and pick him up when it was all over. However, how could he have done such a thing? It wasn’t only that he feared Taven would freak out and bite the old doctor, or something. No, for all of Taven’s bad attitude, abysmal manners and occasional aggressive acting out, deep down he was still like a small frightened kid, Nickel thought, who, he was sure, didn’t want to be abandoned in a strange place. 

Nickel had stayed with Taven for the largest part of the day, shortly dropping out now and then for a cup of coffee, a bite to eat, or a sip of fresh air. It was only for the last hour that Nickel had left the practice entirely to take a walk downtown. Taven seemed to get along with the old doctor well enough, and the worst was already over. They had mostly been waiting for test results, and Nickel had needed to get away from it all.

Taven had been dressed again when he came back, sitting in the examination room. Nickel had brought him a sandwich, but even though the boy had to be hungry, he hadn’t received it with much enthusiasm. When Dr Cordeaux had asked Nickel to his office so they could talk, Taven had been hanging his head in apparent misery and still held the unwrapped meal in his lap when they left him. 

Surely, Taven would perk up later, when they were heading back home again.

\-----o0o-----

Even through his unease, Nickel couldn’t help smiling, taking a seat in Cordeaux’s office. He hadn’t been here in years, but there was still an antique apothecary jar of lollipops on the old doctor’s desk. It made him wish he was a small kid again, and such a simple thing as a piece of hard candy on a stick could save the day.

Dr. Cordeaux sat down behind said desk, shuffling a few piles of papers back and forth across the desktop, looking like he didn’t know where to start. Nickel, in his turn, wasn’t sure if he only wanted the old man to get it over with, or not tell him anything at all. 

The old man cleared his throat and looked hesitant. “Nickel, before we start, I have to ask. Do you really mean to call this slave ‘Taven’?”

Not for the first time, Nickel wondered if it had been such a good idea, after all, to name the slave after his brother. “Yes!” he said, in spite of his doubts. Bad idea, or not, he wasn’t going to change it. Nickel was already used to it, and so was the boy. Besides, it wasn’t anybody’s business what he called his slaves. He shouldn’t have to defend his decisions to anyone. 

The old man seemed to sense he didn’t want to discuss it and dropped the subject without another word. “All right,” he said instead. “I suppose we should get started. I have many things to inform you of. Of course, you already know there are problems, but...” 

“There’s more? How bad is it? Tell me everything!”

“All in good time,” Dr. Cordeaux said, and tried to smile at him. 

The forced smile only served to make Nickel more uneasy. 

“This boy isn’t in good condition, I’m afraid,” the doctor started. “First, at 5’5” and 100 pounds he’s quite underweight.”

Nickel stared. He must have been out for coffee when Cordeaux got those measurements. “He only weighs…? I _am_ feeding him, doctor. He’s having several sturdy meals a day.” 

“I know you are, Nickel. The possibility you wouldn’t feed him properly never crossed my mind, but it seems others haven’t had the decency. Since I hardly think they would have starved him at the slave market either, it’s likely he’s actually gained a few pounds since his former master sold him. Just see to it he doesn’t miss any meals, and he should keep gaining.” 

“I will,” Nickel promised. His uneasiness grew. The boy had been _gaining_. No wonder Taven had been hoarding food.

“Well,” the doctor continued. “It is of course the excessive scarring which jumps out at you when you first see the boy unclothed, and we will get to that later, but there are other things which can’t be as easily detected.”

Nickel swallowed hard. “Such as…?” 

In reply, Dr. Cordeaux rose from his chair, grabbed a large envelope from the desktop, and walked across the floor to light up an old outdated viewing screen on the back wall. Nickel turned in his chair and watched the doctor silently putting up a series of x-ray films. 

He stared at the illuminated bones. They looked so pathetically small and fragile. Somehow, it reminded Nickel of the tiny wounded bird on the clan’s coat of arms. 

Dr. Cordeaux reached for a pointer on a sideboard. “Right arm, fracture of the ulna,” he started without preamble and pointed to the first x-ray. “Fractured ribs, here, here, and here; complete fracture of proximal phalange of little finger on left hand...” The pointer tapping against the screen followed every announcement.

Nickel couldn’t keep up. “Wait,” he said. “What?”

“I’ll explain,” Cordeaux assured him. “It’s hard to believe, looking at this, but considering these injuries were caused by abuse, and the boy received no medical treatment, this slave has been lucky.” The doctor pointed at Taven’s x-rayed chest again. “He was lucky none of these fractured ribs caused more severe damage, such as a punctured lung, or he might have died. The boy told me his former owner often kicked him, which most likely caused these fractures. The fracture to his forearm is a typical defense injury. He told me his master struck him with a baseball bat, in which case you would instinctively raise your arm to protect your head. He was lucky it healed well by itself. Still, can you imagine the pain?” Dr. Cordeaux shook his head with a sad expression. 

Nickel couldn’t get a word out. He stared at the screen, struggling to take it all in.

“Fortunately, all these fractures healed up well on their own, apart from this one.” Cordeaux indicated the last x-ray again, where a small hand was splayed out on the screen. “Can you see how the ends have healed together in the wrong position, resulting in a deformed finger?”

Yes, Nickel could see it clearly. Now that he thought of it, he had noticed Taven’s crooked finger, teaching him, but he hadn’t realized it was because it had been broken. 

“This injury also stands out for how it was inflicted,” Dr. Cordeaux continued. “The other fractures were caused in anger, lashing out at the boy without consideration, or caring about the consequences. That man might not have meant to fracture anything, but he obviously didn’t much care if he did. However, fracturing this finger was done deliberately and in cold blood. To punish. The boy told me his master put his finger in a door, and…”

Nickel didn’t want to hear another word. He raised a hand in the air to silence the doctor and turned away from the screen, clasping the other hand over his mouth.

Dr. Cordeaux came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nickel. I don’t mean to make you upset, but if you plan to keep this boy, I do think you should know.”

Nickel sat up straight and nodded, ashamed of his weakness. “Of course,” he said. “I only needed a moment. Please, go on!”

The doctor sat down across from him again, giving him a sad smile and a short nod.

“I want to show you some pictures,” he said, pulling a book out from under a pile of papers. “You have of course noticed,” he went on, while leafing through the book,” that there are no scars on the boy's face. In fact, at first, I couldn’t find anything that indicated violence to the head. It didn’t strike me as particularly odd. That man would have still been somewhat careful about the boy’s looks. A fractured jaw or nose could have made him less than pretty. However, it seems I was wrong.” 

The old doctor took a closer look at a certain page in the book. “Ah, yes, here it is.” He turned it around and pushed it over to Nickel. 

Nickel leaned over the book. He had no idea what he was looking at, but it was obviously something from inside a human body.

“This is a photo of a normal eardrum,” Cordeaux explained, reaching over to point, “and what you see here is an eardrum with excessive scar tissue. This is similar to what your boy’s eardrums look like, his left one in particular.”

Nickel looked up from the pictures, puzzled. “His eardrums are scarred? How?”

“This type of scar tissue can form when the eardrum ruptures, which can happen for many reasons. It can rupture because of an inner ear infection, a loud sound, or by poking inside your ear with for example a cotton swab. However, in _his_ case abusive trauma was the cause.”

“He hit him.” Nickel said, angry again.

“Yes,” Cordeaux confirmed. “The boy told me his former master often slapped him over the ears, and that will have consequences. An eardrum with this much scar tissue can’t vibrate to catch sound waves as effectively as a healthy eardrum. His hearing might be reduced. More so at his left side than on the right, I would say. It’s likely he’s hard of hearing, but you would have to consult a specialist to be sure.”

Nickel nodded, some things started to make sense to him, he thought. Taven so often appeared distracted and inattentive in class. Maybe he simply didn’t hear all his master was saying to him, but didn’t want to let on. The boy was so loud, too, almost yelling when he spoke sometimes. 

“People don’t stop to think of the consequences,” Cordeaux said, sounding angry. “Reduced hearing could have been the least of the boy’s problems after this kind of violence to the head. Concussions, fractures, loose teeth, brain damage…”

“You think he might be brain damaged?” Nickel interrupted, worried. Maybe the slave trader had been correct, after all, when he’d claimed Taven wasn’t quite as he should be.

“If there are indeed minor damages, I wouldn’t be able to tell from an examination like this, but… No, I don’t think so. The slave seems fairly normal to me, only badly behaved. However, you might want to take him to a dentist.”

Nickel nodded. He didn’t want to believe there was something wrong with Taven in such a way, and he would try to remember to call a dentist, later. 

“Well, I usually advice against physical punishment in general, and it certainly shouldn’t be used on a slave with this kind of history without careful consideration,” Dr. Cordeaux said.

“I’m not beating him,” Nickel replied defensively.

Dr. Cordeaux raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to imply it’s how you usually handle things, lad, but you’ve told me you’re training the boy yourself, and I can tell he’s a challenge. I’m not saying it’s impossible to make a decent personal slave out of this one, but… Well, knowing the high expectations your father will no doubt hold the boy to must stress you as well. More patient men than you have lost their temper in a situation like this, and, as I said, people often don’t realize the damage they can cause, even with a simple slap.”

“Maybe I’m more patient than people think,” Nickel said, still somewhat on the defensive. “And the boy _is_ trying.”

“Oh, I can see that he is,” the doctor agreed. “I don’t think there’s anything bad in him, and I can’t say he gave me any trouble today, but… Let’s just say he has a long way to go, still.”

Nickel sighed. “I know I need to discipline him, for his own good if nothing else, but I prefer alternative methods, as far as it’s possible.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” The old doctor smiled. “I wouldn’t claim your father is an overly harsh man, but I have noticed there are changes at the estate since he left it mainly to you. It’s been years since I had to look someone over after a flogging, and I hope I never have to again. You handle things differently, and I commend you.”

Nickel nodded.

“Overall, I’m glad to hear you want to give this boy a chance, because I do think it’s his last one,” Dr. Cordeaux continued.

“What do you mean?” Nickel asked, though he knew perfectly well what the doctor meant. 

“Well,” Cordeaux said. “If you give up on this boy, it’s highly unlikely anyone else would want him.”

The bluntness of the statement made Nickel sad, but he couldn’t deny the truth. Taven’s cute face and unusual hair would draw many people in, at first, but then he would open his mouth, and the accent alone would put off many prospective buyers. Add to that the boy’s behavior, and the state of his body… He was doomed on the open market. 

When put in such a way, Nickel couldn’t understand why he himself was disregarding these problems to the extent he actually was. 

“Are you referring to the scars and the tattoo?” he said, trying to explain to the old man what he couldn’t explain to himself. “It doesn’t look pretty, I don’t think so either, but it doesn’t bother me… I mean, of course it bothers me, but… I don’t know how to explain,” he finally said, exasperated. “I don’t think it’s a reason to simply discard him.”

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. “I agree,” he said. “If you do manage to train him properly, there’s no reason he can’t serve fully clothed to anyone’s satisfaction. You’ll be rid of that awful tattoo, as well, eventually. The scarring, though… Nickel, are you aware of why he looks like this?”

“Not really,” Nickel admitted, again feeling bad that he’d avoided finding out. “Of course, I’ve understood his last owner caused the scarring, as well, but I can’t say I know the details, no.”

“Ah, well, the slave told me all about it,” Dr. Cordeaux said.

Nickel was both confused, and vexed. _When_ did Taven tell the old doctor all this? He’d been around most of the day and hadn’t heard anything about the scarring, or all the other things the doctor had explained to him, so far. Had Taven just blurted out as much as was able the second his master left for a cup of coffee? Why had the slave confided in the old doctor – a man he’d only met for the second time today – and why didn’t he confide in _him_? 

“The scars were caused by cutting,” the doctor continued. “The man used scalpels, razor blades, and occasionally, knives.”

“Good God,” Nickel exclaimed. “Why?”

“To punish, to cause pain… The way your boy described it to me, the man seemed to have found some sort of excitement in the cutting itself, and certainly in the boy’s fear and anguish.”

“What the fuck?” Nickel swore. “Is he some kind of sadist?” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic cursing. “Most likely,” he said. “The boy told me his master didn’t do it often at first, but in periods the behavior seemed to have increased. This was still done only occasionally over the course of a few years, and the cuts were shallow. The intention didn’t seem to have been to cause large or lasting, injuries. It’s incredibly risky behavior in any case, and again, this slave has been lucky. That awful man could have cut too deep, the boy bleeding to death. There could have been severe infections… He _is_ fortunate, Nickel, that today this is mostly a cosmetic issue.”

Nickel dried at his upper lip, he couldn’t comprehend there were people like that out there. “Why are some of the scars so large, raised, and red?” he asked. 

“Your boy most likely has a condition called hypertrophic scars,” the doctor answered. “It’s an overproduction of collagen, which sometimes forms scars of this type. The formations are completely benign, though they don’t look nice, and can be sensitive and itchy. His scars will most likely not become worse, though, and might pale a bit with age as well.” 

“The inside of his thighs…?” Nickel was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Dr. Cordeaux looked serious. “He burned the boy with cigarettes.” 

“Those are _cigarette burns_?” Nickel got up from the chair and started to pace the office in frustrated anger. “If I ever get hold of that bastard, I’ll- I’ll…!”

“What would be the point, lad?” the doctor mildly argued. “Please, sit down, so we can talk about it.”

Nickel was still fuming, but did as the old doctor asked. “It just makes me so angry,” he said, slumping down on the chair again. “Such cruelty, such pointless destruction... I just want to…” 

“I understand, I do, but that man had the law on his side, and since the boy is no longer in his possession, what use would there be in stirring up trouble. I’m not telling you all this only for you to focus on that man. It was all in the slave’s past. Concentrate on his current health issues instead. _If_ you want to keep the boy, you’ll need to have all the facts, and _that’s_ why I’m telling you.”

“Oh, I have no intentions of getting rid of him.” Nickel said.

“I’m glad to hear that, but you might change your mind still. I’m not finished, I’m afraid.” 

Nickel leaned over and rubbed at his temples. “Oh, God! What possibly more can there be?” 

“I’m sure you understand this boy has been used for sex?” Dr. Cordeaux said, getting straight to the point.

“Yes,” Nickel said. “That’s obvious.”

“Forgive me for asking this then, lad. I’m fully aware it’s not any of my business, but I hope you understand I’m asking solely from a medical point of view, and from concern. Do you intend to be sexually intimate with the boy yourself, or have you, perhaps, already been so?”

Nickel turned red. “Uh, I’m not… I mean, no… No, I haven’t touched him, and, I wouldn’t… I mean, I’m not exactly _planning_ to, but…”

The old doctor nodded. “I see. I don’t purport to know about your inclinations and preferences, lad, but I’m not judging. At my age, and in my profession, I’ve seen it all. _If_ you should, at any time in the future, want to use this boy for sex, you need to know things.”

Nickel was still trying to stop blushing. The old man might be his doctor, but he was also an old friend of the family. This felt about as awkward as having ‘the talk’ with his elderly father. However, he nodded to show he was still listening.

“The boy wasn’t as open about this,” the doctor continued, “but from what little he told me, from what I could see examining him, and from my knowledge of the South End, it’s not hard to read between the lines. It’s not uncommon down there for people to use slaves as prostitutes, and I would say it _is_ most likely what this boy’s former master mainly kept him for.”

Nickel couldn’t help making a disgusted grimace.

“Down there,” Cordeaux said, “with that kind of ‘clientele’… It’s not an easy life, Nickel. There would have been no lack of customers, mostly men I should think, and many of them wouldn’t have been careful, either with the boy, or themselves.”

“Which means…?” Nickel asked, again afraid to hear the answer.

“I’m getting there in a second, lad. I only want to make sure you understand such a life most likely will leave scars not only on your body. I can tell this boy does hold a certain appeal for you, in spite of it all, but it could be difficult to make such a slave serve in that capacity with any sort of enthusiasm. You would want to be as careful, patient, gentle and understanding in bed as you possibly can, regardless of how you must act outside of the bedroom.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Nickel said, honestly perplexed. He’d never been anything else, with _anyone_. He certainly didn’t like things rough.

The old doctor smiled tenderly. “If only all slave owners were like you. Well, sex is for the moment out of the question in any case, I’m afraid, as he has anal fissures.”

Nickel clasped a hand over his mouth again. “My goodness,” he finally managed. “He’s torn?”

“You could put it that way, yes,” Dr. Cordeaux replied, “but not severely so. I’ve seen worse cases. I’ve already explained to the boy how he should take better care of it, and I’ll write you a prescription for a cream that usually works well. It will heal, eventually, but it’s uncomfortable and painful until it does. It doesn’t mean he can’t be used in the future, but I would recommend being careful and using plenty of lubrication.”

“I _always_ use lubri…” Nickel abruptly cut himself short when he realized he was about to reveal more about his previous experiences than he was comfortable with. “They were that harsh on him?” he said, quickly shifting the subject back to Taven.

“Not as harsh as I would have expected, actually. Considering how badly he’s been treated otherwise, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see traces of worse rectal damage. I don’t think his former master would have been relatively careful in this regard out of any sense of compassion, though. A man who breaks the fingers of children would hardly have any to spare. No, I think it was for pragmatic reasons only. A day where the boy couldn’t be used would have been a day without income.”

The doctor let that sink in, while Nickel squirmed on the chair in discomfited unease.

“However,” he went on. “These particular fissures are recent. It seems they couldn’t refrain from ‘testing his talents’ at the slave market.”

“Oh, it doesn’t surprise me at all,” Nickel said, frowning as he remembered the market. They hadn’t only beaten the boy bloody and chained him; they had used him, too. Was this a way to conduct a decent business? He would sure as hell never visit _that_ place again. He couldn’t help wondering which of the men there had used Taven. Had it been the trader himself or one of his guards? It made him angry just thinking about anyone else touching his boy.

“Well, there aren’t only risks to the _boy’s_ health here, Nickel, but yours as well. I’m relieved to hear you haven’t had sex with this slave. You might have caught an STD.”

“An STD?” Nickel echoed; his mind still on the slave market.

“Sexually transmitted diseases, lad.”

“Oh, STDs! Of course… Wait, he has a venereal disease?”

“Not _a_ venereal disease. Several!”

Nickel could do nothing else than wordlessly gape at the doctor. 

“Already when I saw the tattoo I suspected this would be the case,” the old doctor said. “That’s why I made sure to swab for everything early this morning, so I could send a messenger over to the lab at the hospital, and have the results back today, and I have it here.” 

He held up another, already opened, envelope.

Nickel glared at this latest bringer of bad news, in a seemingly endless stream of the same this cursed day had brought.

“The lab has confirmed your boy suffers from Herpes esophagitis, Chlamydia and Gonorrhea,” the doctor told him.

Nickel stared. “I haven’t even heard of the first,” he said. “And can you really have both of those other two at the same time?”

Dr. Cordeaux nodded. “It’s not unusual for one person to be inflicted with both Chlamydia and Gonorrhea. The circumstances that makes one likely, also increases the likelihood of the other. Herpes esophagitis simply means the infection is located down his throat. It’s a much rarer condition, but considering how many people must have used him… In fact, your boy is again fortunate there aren’t more things wrong with him, or that he didn’t catch anything deadlier. 

“When I said people weren’t careful neither with him, nor themselves, I was referring to simple condom use. There’s no telling how many people this slave has infected in his turn. It’s hardly the poor boy’s fault, though. He was obviously not in a position to demand condoms, and was lucky at least some were sensible enough to protect themselves. If all of them had been this smart, he, and you, wouldn’t be in this situation. Always use a condom, Nickel, always!”

Nickel felt uneasy now as much for his own sake, as for Taven’s. His head was spinning, trying to think back on pretty much his entire sex life. From the utterly awkward time when he’d lost his virginity to a girl in a parallel class on an overnight school trip at fifteen, through present time. Had he always used a condom? With a sort of panicky feeling, he realized he couldn’t tell. 

What risks had he taken through the years, without knowing it? Surely, he’d been less at risk than many others. He wasn’t the irresponsible kind, not one to often go out, hang at bars, get drunk, or have one-night stands. On the other hand, he wasn’t a saint either, and there _had_ been the occasional fleeting encounter, with both men and women. 

Should he have himself tested? 

Nickel couldn’t help shuddering when his thoughts returned to Taven. What if the boy had been less troublesome and more accommodating, he might already have had sex with the slave, and caught God knows what. Goodness, he didn’t even fully understand what he would have risked catching. He had to admit he knew little of venereal diseases. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about these conditions,” he said, outwardly ignoring the doctor’s strict advice on condom use, but deep inside swearing always to obey it from now on. “You have to explain this to me. He _can_ be cured, right?”

“It’s complicated, I’m afraid,” the doctor answered. “Herpes is a virus infection of a kind which can’t be completely cured, but there is medication that can keep it in check. Chlamydia and Gonorrhea are both bacterial infections, which _are_ curable, but left untreated for a longer time, and that’s the case here, there might be consequences not as easily dealt with.”

“I still don’t follow,” Nickel said. “He has herpes down his _throat_?” He involuntarily swallowed as if there was something invading his own throat. Nickel thought of all the times he’d stared at Taven’s sweet lips, wanting to touch them with his own. Could even a simple kiss have…?

“I’ll tell you all you need to know, lad,” Dr. Cordeaux assured him. “But I’ll ask you again to consider the most important question first. _Do_ you still want to keep this boy? These aren’t pleasant things, it will require some commitment, and I can’t promise it will be alright in the end, neither physically, nor mentally. Maybe such a damaged creature isn’t something a lord should trouble himself with, and I understand if you think you have more important things to do. I wouldn’t blame you if you drew the line here.”

The doctor was damn right he didn’t want to deal with things like this, Nickel thought. This wasn’t what he had signed up for. Again, he felt so angry. Had the trader been aware of the STDs as well? So naïve he’d been not to demand more information, and what a fool to promise he wouldn’t blame the trader, or come back with complaints. 

The old doctor kept talking.

“If you do decide you can’t take on this responsibility, it would be better for the boy if… Please don’t let the authorities take care of it. I would do it for you, in a quick and humane way. I’d use drugs and tell the poor thing that… Well, he would never understand.”

These words finally shocked him out of his self-pitying anger. The old man’s hopeful expression as he waited for an answer tore at Nickel’s heart. He couldn’t believe the kind old doctor wanted to put the boy down, but it was obvious he was still prepared to, _if_ the ‘spoiled young lord’ at the other side of his desk decided that, after all these revelations, his ‘impulse buy’ was no fun anymore. 

Nickel’s head swam.

“I- I would _never_… No! Of course, I want to keep him. Just tell me what I need to do!”

There was no mistaking the old man’s relief. He smiled widely. “Bless your good heart, lad,” he blurted out.

\-----o0o-----

Taven still hung his head as they walked back to the car, not saying a word. He had never eaten that sandwich either, leaving it behind in the examination room. Maybe his throat was sore. Dr. Cordeaux had said it would be.

They got in the car in silence. Taven kept staring down in his lap where his hands were fiddling with the end of his braid, his shoulders drawn up and tense. Nickel had planned to talk to the boy when they got back home, but somehow it felt like it couldn’t wait. He’d already stuck the car keys in the ignition, but he let go and leaned back in the seat, sighing. 

How the hell did you start a conversation like this?

He discreetly peeked at Taven’s downturned face, partially hidden under strands of red hair come loose from his braid. His lower lip was quivering. The boy knew. Cordeaux would have told _him_ everything as well. Nickel forcefully pushed away the feeling of disgust that kept coming up when he thought of the STDs. It wasn’t Taven’s fault. 

“Well,” he started. “You know, Dr. Cordeaux had to tell me everything. He had to tell me about the diseases, and…” 

Unexpectedly, Taven slumped over in the car seat, buried his face in his hands, and burst out crying hysterically.

Nickel didn’t know how to react. For a fleeting moment he wanted to simply step out of the car and walk away like he’d done in the gardens that morning, but he wasn’t going to allow himself such an easy out this time. 

He thought he understood now why Taven hadn’t confided in him today, but had told the old doctor all he could as soon as his master had left the room. Nickel _wasn’t_ the boy’s confidant. He was his _owner_, who would just as likely decide these problems was reason enough to get rid of a slave. Taven had understood things _would_ come out today, no matter what, but he’d rather the old man heard it first. Nickel realized Taven’s only hope had been that the doctor would speak in his favor. Taven obviously hadn’t thought it would help if he pleaded his case with his owner himself. 

Whether the old man had understood what the boy was trying to do, or not, he’d successfully spoken for the slave, all right. Dr. Cordeaux had spelled it out to Nickel as clearly as anyone could demand, several times. What would be an inconvenience for the lord would literally be a question of life or death for the slave.

Nickel had to explain to the boy that he had nothing to fear. 

He put a hand on Taven’s back. “Taven, listen, I…”

Taven shook off his hand with a violent jerk. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed. “I’m so fucking disgusting. Oh _God_…” He sobbed. 

Nickel wasn’t going to accept this. He leaned over and grabbed Taven by the shoulders, forcing him to sit up and turn to him. “My goodness, boy, you’re not disgusting. This isn’t your fault. We’ll…”

Taven wasn’t listening. “You’re not gonna want me now,” he yelled, weeping and trembling in his hands. “You’re gonna fucking throw me out on my ass, and- and no one else is gonna want me either. I- I’m full of fucking germs and bugs. Oh God, I just wanna _die_.”

Nickel couldn’t help shaking him. “For goodness sake, boy, listen to me! I’m trying to tell you I do want you. Do you hear me? I’m not going to throw you out. This isn’t your fault,” he repeated. “You’re not disgusting at all.”

Taven was still sobbing hard. “I don’t fucking believe you,” he cried. 

“But, for the love of…” Nickel let go and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a few papers that he stuck under the boy’s nose. “Look at this! These are prescriptions, Taven, medicine, for _you_. I’ll buy all these pills, and they’ll cure you. Do you think I would do that if I didn’t intend to keep you?”

Tears were still streaming down Taven’s cheeks and he shook his head miserably. “It ain’t true,” he said. “The fucking ‘herpes thing’ can’t be fixed, _ever_. The doctor told me. I know it can’t. I _know_, so- so don’t fucking lie to me, Master! You’re not gonna want this shit around. It’s down my fucking _throat_.” He hid his face in his hands again, sobbing even harder. “It’s so fucking disgusting, I just wanna puke.”

Nickel could do nothing else than to hold Taven close and let him press his teary face into his chest. “I know, boy, I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he said. “It’s a shame it can’t be cured completely, but… All you need to know is, I’m not going to get rid of you because of this. We’ll find a way to deal with it, you’ll see. You’ll see.”


	17. Roth, the PI

Roth hammered away at the keyboard, stretching his back now and then, rotating his stiff neck. He’d spent quite some time on this and there were plates with dried up sandwich crusts, plenty of donut crumbs, and several empty soda cans, on his desk to prove it. At Nickel’s request, he was doing a bit of his old line of work this week.

This might not be what the average person would picture a private investigator doing, but the truth was, a large part of the job had been spent in front the computer, and on the phone. Sneaking around shady back alleys with your gun drawn, or jumping in taxis shouting ‘follow that car’ and similar, more action related, situations, had been few and far in between. There had been a lot of staking out, and watching people, by all means, though it wasn’t nearly as exciting as some might think. Usually nothing happened and you just kept seeing the same stuff. It got old soon enough.

In fact, some eighty percent of his cases had been simple insurance fraud. The rest were people suspecting their spouses of cheating – they were usually correct – and missing person cases, where most of them turned out to have skipped town voluntarily, for personal reasons, if he ever found them at all. Exactly once in his entire career had a missing person turned up as a murder victim, whereupon he’d immediately turned over the case to the police and his own involvement had been over. 

Nope, it wasn’t like in the movies, far from it.

Not that this fact had made the job entirely risk free. Roth recalled one of his first cases, as an inexperienced, and much too hotheaded, young man. He’d caught a woman red-handed committing health insurance fraud, and she had caught _him_ completely unawares. She’d beaten him up pretty good, with the crutch she didn’t seem to be so dependent on, after all. Roth shook his head at the memory. A broken nose and a replaced front tooth had been the result of that successfully cleared up case. People could be pretty pissed off when someone revealed their shady businesses. He’d soon learned to avoid similar confrontations.

As for people gone missing, Roth had always refused to take on cases involving finding runaway slaves, on principle. Considering how harshly those poor sods were dealt with if they were found, and how hard it must be to be on the run at all, if they still attempted to get away, they probably had a damn good reason to. No one who treated their slave so badly they rather risked running, deserved to keep them anyway. 

However, he didn’t plan to find a slave today, and neither was the person missing, but unknown, which demanded a different approach.

The only one who had had any information at all about the doctor he was looking for was Taven, and the slave wasn’t easy to speak with. Roth thought the kid would have got it by now he wasn’t going to kick his bony ass, but the slave had still eyed him in obvious suspicion, pressed up against his master, and had sulkily kept answering that he ‘didn’t know a fucking thing’ to all of Roth’s questions. 

Well, after some coaxing and prodding, Roth had finally managed to get two pieces of information out of the boy. Taven had remembered a sign on the doctor’s door as they had waited outside. He’d only noticed it because it had ‘looked cool’, having a large image of a snake on it, and now, that he’d learned the alphabet, he was sure there had been a capital ‘P’ on it as well. Then, after Roth had specifically asked him if he’d heard anything nearby, Taven had said there’d been church bells. It wasn’t a lot to go on. Especially since there were plenty of old churches in the city.

So, what did he have to show for his work, so far, then? Well, nothing. With so little to go on, there wasn’t much he could do. He had methodically searched maps for any kind of health practice close to a church, and then had tried to find out if the owner, or any business partner, had a first, or a last, name beginning with ‘P’. He’d found no such person. 

Roth was stuck, and he was annoyed. Doing this kind of thing wasn’t really part of his current job description, but, as usual, he hadn’t been able to tell Nickel, no. He sighed. 

Well, Nickel’s first request had been easy to fulfill. With the help of an old acquaintance in the city archives, Roth had found the relevant information on Taven’s first owner within an hour. Finding this ‘scalpel happy’ doctor would be much harder. 

Roth groaned. He’d had a similar day yesterday, when he’d tried to find some useful information on the redhead’s _second_ owner. Of course, in that case he knew who the man was. His name was in Taven’s papers, and it had only been a matter of a few minutes to find his address, as well. It turned out that James Swift was practically his neighbor, living only a few minutes away by car in one of the old dilapidated working class quarters down here in the South End. 

Finding him hadn’t been the problem, finding something _on_ him had.

After having had the redhead examined by the clan’s family doctor a few days ago, Nickel had called him about it. Upset and angry his boss had related what Dr. Cordeaux had found out, and apart from asking him to find the unknown doctor, he’d also had this ‘plan’ regarding Swift. 

They couldn’t nail Swift on what he’d done to the redhead, but Nickel refused to believe a man like that had never done _anything_ illegal. Roth agreed, all his instincts told him this Swift was a shady character. If they could find evidence of something illegal going on, Nickel had eagerly continued, they could send the police after Swift. Preferably, a hitherto unsolved murder, his boss had spat, so the courts would put away the man for life, but he would take anything that would land Swift in trouble.

Roth had told his boss it wasn’t a good idea. Nickel didn’t understand what he might be up against. In the end, though, he’d agreed to it. He guessed he could understand Nickel’s feelings. Swift was a fucking bastard, all right, torturing the poor kid, and would deserve anything he got. Roth wasn’t opposed to causing the man as much trouble as possible, as long as they didn’t land _themselves_ in any kind of trouble. His job was to protect Nickel, after all, not enabling him in his crazy ventures, such as poking the proverbial hornet nest that was the typical South End thug. 

Well, it couldn’t hurt to look about, Roth thought. His boss would, of course, never be directly involved, they would only transfer possible information on to the police. Roth had started investigating Swift, looking to see in what kind of stuff the man had been involved in the past, which would give him a good indication about what to look for in the present. People like that usually never changed.

Surprisingly enough, Roth hadn’t found anything at all on James Swift. Judging from Swift’s complete absence from any crime related archives that Roth had been able to access – or had had acquaintances in the right places accessing – the man was practically a paragon of virtue. There wasn’t as much as a single parking ticket tied to his name. 

Yesterday’s research had been a complete failure, and today’s seemed to be going the same way. 

Roth glared at the computer screen, as if it was to blame. Damn, he had wanted to find this doctor, at least. What a fucking bastard, really, cutting body parts off a defenseless kid as if he was nothing but an animal in a slaughterhouse…

Animal… 

Roth sat up straight in the chair and started hammering away at the keyboard again, bringing back the street maps and address lists. Ten minutes later he let out a triumphant ‘yes’ banging his fist at the desktop, making the soda cans wobble. 

In a street just east of the old cathedral downtown, there was, indeed, a practice of a man named J. Putz, but he wasn’t a doctor. He was a _veterinarian_. 

Roth got up from the chair and went to find his camera.

\-----o0o-----

Peace reigned in the classroom.

Taven was reading silently, while Nickel devoted himself to one of his favorite pastimes these days, namely watching him. The last week had given him unusually many opportunities, as the slave’s behavior had definitely changed for the better lately. Nickel wouldn’t say the boy’s learning abilities had improved in any significant way, but there were considerably fewer incidents of acting out or making trouble.

At first, this clearly noticeable and sudden change had baffled Nickel, but after a while, he’d understood. The visit to Dr. Cordeaux’s practice had made Taven realize just how precarious his situation was, how easily he could be discarded and pushed out to face an unknown destiny, with hardly anything going for him. He had finally realized what a good home he was actually staying in and it had obviously motivated him to try harder. 

Of course, Nickel had never intended to discard the slave, and he was sure he’d also mentioned this to Taven, on several occasions. It seemed to Taven it had still been a real possibility. It was sad, Nickel thought. He wished the boy would believe him on his word, and still be on his best behavior. However, he was happy about the improvement. Taven was a danger to himself the way he acted. 

If the visit at the doctor’s had served as a wakeup call, then so be it. 

Taven bowed his head over the page, gnawing at his lower lip in concentration, his fingers following the words he was trying to make sense of. Nickel smiled tenderly at this peaceful picture. 

He never tired of watching.

\-----o0o-----

Taven glanced up from the pages of the book as discreetly as he was able. His master always did that, stared at him from over by the teacher’s desk when he was reading. At least his owner didn’t seem angry, or like he was waiting for him to do something bad, and he never said anything. The man just sort of looked and smiled.

His master was such a weird fucking guy.

Taven looked down on the pages again. The latest book his master had given him to read wasn’t as stupid as the others, he thought. At least it had a story he could follow. It was about something the book called a ‘tribe’, but it was really just a group of people who lived in caves and shit, and hunted to survive. The story took place years ago, in ‘the stone age’, whenever that was, and had all these pictures of beefy guys in furs that carried wooden spears. 

He looked up. “Master,” he said, breaking the long silence. “What’s a…” He searched the page for the word again. “What’s a ‘tribe’?”

His master shone up, the way the man always did whenever he asked questions from the books. Taven didn’t get that either. Why did his master enjoy explaining useless things so much?

“A tribe? Well, it’s not so different from a clan, actually.” The man smiled.

Taven still didn’t get it. “What’s a clan then?” he asked further.

His master raised his eyebrows. “You _are_ aware you’re owned by a clan member, aren’t you?” he said.

Yes, he knew that. The man had explained weeks ago. He knew his master’s name was ‘Nickel’, belonged to the ‘Wren clan’ and was some kind of lord, who was rich as hell. Taven knew there were other clans as well. He’d heard about them when he’d still been in the South End, but nothing people had said about them had been good. People sat around drinking and talked about how fucking stuck up the clan lords were, thinking they were better than everyone else just because they owned a lot of land, and had riches and influence. Taven hadn’t understood much, except that the clans _were_ hated. 

Yeah, they talked a lot of shit down there, but the only clan member _he_ had met so far was a thousand times nicer than any of those fucking shitheads. Weird, maybe, yes, but nice nevertheless. His owner had held him when he’d broken down crying like a fucking idiot in the car the other day, and hadn’t been angry at all. 

They were probably just jealous.

Anyway, no one had ever explained to him what a clan _was_. “Yeah, I know that,” he said. “I just don’t know what it _is_, kinda.”

“Oh.” His master said.”Well, it’s a group of people sharing the same descent. It’s a noble family, with a Head Lord leading them. ‘Clan’ might mean different things in different parts of the world, but here it has a specific meaning of being officially recognized by the monarchy, and afforded certain privileges, in exchange for services to the crown. It isn’t done anymore, and it was over a hundred years ago a clan was last given their coat of arms. Most of the hundred and twenty two genuine clans still existing today were given theirs centuries ago.”

Taven blinked. He hoped his master wouldn’t demand he remember all this, because he’d already forgotten about half of it. The man didn’t seem to notice he wasn’t following, and enthusiastically kept blabbering on.

“The Wren clan is more than five hundred years old,” he continued, “and our coat of arms was given as number twenty seven in order. Such a low number is rare today, since many of the oldest clans have died out. Other families, as well, claim they are clan, but they aren’t of course, not in a genuine official sense. They were never given privileges for aiding the king.”

His master straightened up in his chair and seemed proud, looking at him as if he was supposed to say something to all this. Taven couldn’t think of anything. Okay, it all sounded important and shit, but it wasn’t like it meant anything at all to him. “Uh, you _all_ rich like this, Master?” he finally asked.

The man smiled. “Well, we were given plenty of land and opportunities for our services, so, we should be, but not all clans have been as good at managing what they were once given. No, not all clans are wealthy, but rather many of us are.” 

“I don’t get it,” Taven said. “Like… What’d _you_ do to help the king, Master?”

His master laughed. “Oh, no, you misunderstand, boy. I’ve never met the king. As I said, these things were afforded the clans hundreds of years ago. It was different times then, with wars and conflicts. Noble families helped those early kings by providing men to fight for them. In times of peace those kings paid them back.”

“They paid them so fucking much you still live off it?” Taven blurted out, amazed. He couldn’t even imagine how much riches it must have been to last for hundreds of years.

His master was still grinning widely. “You misunderstand again. It’s not…” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Uh, well, all right, I guess you _can_ actually say so.”

Taven leaned back in his chair. He surprised himself with starting to get, sort of, interested. It struck him how little he knew about the man who owned him. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him before. Swift had kept him for years, and he’d never known shit about him either. No personal stuff anyway, such as family. To Taven, all you needed to know about _anyone_ was how much they were going to hurt you, and how to avoid it, if possible. That there could be other things to know about people wasn’t a question that had ever crossed his mind. 

However, now he found himself wanting to know things about the man over there at the teacher’s desk, and since he _was_ actually allowed to ask stuff…

“But, why are you…Why are you, like, all alone then, Master, if it’s like a big family and all,” he said. “Where’s the rest?” 

Yeah, Taven thought, in a big house like this, where the fuck _was_ everybody. Sure, there were slaves everywhere, but as he knew all too well, they didn’t count. The only other free person who ever came around here was that scary bodyguard, Mr. Roth, but Taven was sure he didn’t count either.

His master stopped smiling. “Granted, there aren’t many of us anymore, but, I’m not _alone_, not per se. There’s my father, the current Head Lord, and I, and my cousin Leonard, of course. Leonard is married and has two sons, though they both stay abroad for university at the moment. It’s not as if we face complete extinction. Not yet.” His smile was forced, but gradually widened into a more genuine one again. 

“I do happen to live alone here at the mansion, at the moment, yes,” his master went on. “These days an extended family usually prefers to _not_ all live together in one big house as was common within the clans in the old days. Leonard’s parents, my paternal uncle and his wife, moved away years before I was born. The last four years my father has preferred to live elsewhere, as well. We own this delightful summerhouse in the mountains, and father decided to retire there and leave the mansion in my care. He still comes here a few times a year, usually in summer, and we talk over the phone at least once a week.”

“Uh, I don’t get it,” Taven said. “They don’t wanna live here?” 

He didn’t understand. For a slave this must be the best place in the world, at least if you could be with the master, and he could only imagine what kind of luxury it would mean for a free person. Why would anyone ever want to leave here? Having recently come close to being thrown out himself, the fear still a vivid memory, Taven was even more perplexed. Were they fucking nuts? 

Again, his master smiled as if he was a small kid talking nonsense. “Well, contrary to what many might think it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, to live in a place like this,” he said. “Keeping this monstrosity of a house in good condition is a lot of work, and costs a lot of money. It’s a huge responsibility, too, what with so much history residing under these roofs. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love this place, but sometimes it’s like a millstone around my neck. Sometimes I feel as if I’m some sort of museum curator, employed for life, and it’s not what I… Ah, well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

Taven only shrugged his shoulders at all this, he had no idea what the man was talking about. His mind was still stuck on the question of his master’s family anyway. Okay, his brother was dead, his dad stayed somewhere else, and other members of the clan had moved out. However, one piece of the puzzle was missing. Taven might never have had anything even remotely resembling a family himself, but he still knew enough of free people to notice. “Where’s your mom then, Master?” he asked.

It was immediately clear to him he’d overstepped a line somehow with this last question. His master got such a weird expression Taven at once regretted ever opening his stupid fucking mouth. It wasn’t that the man seemed angry or even irritated, he’d seen _those_ faces often enough; no he only looked strange, in a very uncomfortable way. 

“No more questions,” his master said. “Keep reading!” he ordered.

Taven’s gaze dropped immediately, but he couldn’t follow the story anymore. It was his master’s own fault, he thought. Why did he have to allow him to talk so fucking much up here then? As if he was supposed to just know what the right things to talk about were, and what things weren’t. If the man punished him for this, it wouldn’t be fair. However, when was it ever?

The tense silence didn’t last long. His master cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Taven, I’ve been thinking. You’ve behaved so well lately, maybe we should move on to the practical parts of your training. We should start teaching you how to actually attend me, what do you think?” The man’s smile was back.

What did he think? He didn’t want to, that’s what he thought. He could try to explain to his master how his stomach was slowly knotting up at the mere thought of learning even more new shit he would fucking fail at. However, it seemed whatever weird, and scary, mood his master had been in, it was now gone. Taven didn’t want it to return.

“Yes, Master,” he murmured, never looking up from the book.

\-----o0o-----

Roth was in his car, a bit farther down the street from the vet’s practice. He’d looked up the opening hours, and was waiting for Putz to close shop. He fiddled with his camera. When the man stepped outside, he would snap a picture to show the redhead. He was certain he had the right man, but he wanted to be completely sure.

He checked his watch and yawned, only a few minutes now. 

The boredom of staking out people was one of the reasons he’d decided to look for another job five years ago. It wasn’t always this easy, knowing someone would be in a certain place, at a certain time, so you could just show up a few minutes early, get what you came for, and go home. Roth remembered many fruitless hours in different cars, getting nothing out of it but a headache from a lack of sleep. It had been a shitty job, the money had been as irregular as the hours, and finally he’d tired of it. 

Roth had switched careers and had applied for a license as a bodyguard. He’d passed the classes with excellence, and a year later, the Wren clan had hired him. To be honest, Roth hadn’t been very enthusiastic about his new job. He’d had this image of himself as working in the higher echelons of politics, or something. Babysitting some spoiled lord would have to be a temporary thing, he’d thought, or something at the side, just for the easy money. 

Somehow, though, Nickel and he had hit it off, and here he was, four years later. He still took other jobs at the side, but this had become his ‘main gig’. 

The door to the clinic opened, bringing Roth out of his musings. Aha, there was the sign, just as the boy had described it: ‘J. Putz’, with a coiled up snake underneath. What the hell kind of name was that anyway? He put the telescope lens through the half-opened car window and looked at the camera screen. 

Putz closed the door again, locked it, and when the man turned around to leave, Roth got a few good close-up shots of his face. He quickly pulled the camera inside again, put it on the passenger seat, started the car and calmly drove away. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds.

For a fleeting moment, Roth felt a rush of excitement like he hadn’t felt in years. Nickel and Dr. Cordeaux would see to it that that vet lost his license to practice. Case closed. Yep, it felt good.

He had to admit, working for Nickel was rarely exciting. Usually nothing happened, which was good, of course. In his line of work ‘something happening’ would mean something _bad_ happening, and nothing happening at all, was a successful day. Still... Sometimes, when he was in a cynical mood, Roth wondered if a bodyguard was at all necessary and if he was actually only some sort of ‘paid pal’. However, he knew that wasn’t fair.

Whatever the clan paid him for it wasn’t his friendship with Nickel. That part had just happened anyway. 

He guessed, most days, Nickel didn’t need him. Apart from his wealth, Nickel lived a fairly ordinary life. The young lord wasn’t the adventurous type either, and usually obediently stayed away from riskier areas and bad people. Nickel wasn’t completely helpless for that matter, what with all that ‘karate stuff’ he knew, and all. There was no telling, of course, how his friend would handle himself in a genuinely threatening situation, Roth thought, but he had seen Nickel do some impressive stuff in the gym at least. They sparred sometimes, and his boss packed a pretty mean punch, small-framed as he was.

However, Nickel would be unwise to rely on his training, and there were threats Roth would be better equipped to handle.

In a just world, Roth thought, the clans would have been a quaint relic from older times with no particular significance in a modern society, but that wasn’t the case. They had a disproportionally large political influence still. The crown afforded the clans tax-exempts, which enabled them to add on to their, in many cases, already extensive wealth, and there were various other legal privileges as well.

Roth knew these facts made the clans widely disliked, especially among the working class. At the same time, they were envied and idolized. The tabloids happily reported on their larger events and parties to eager readers who wanted to know what the clan ladies were wearing, and the upper middle class strived to kiss their asses. The average commoner had a complicated view of the clans, himself included. 

There were people though, whose views of the clans were not complicated at all, but they simply hated them on ideological grounds. There had been a general threat against the clans ‘hanging in the air’ for decades from certain terrorist-classed organizations. 

However, as far as Roth could tell none of these groups specifically targeted the Wren clan, or Nickel personally. They were also much more likely to strike at larger clan gatherings where there was press coverage. Anything they did would be a message to the government and the monarchy, after all, and they would want as much publicity as possible. When there had been incidents in the past, it had happened at galas and fundraiser events. Roth didn’t think Nickel risked much going about his everyday life, and the young lord usually avoided larger spectacles anyway, preferring settings that were more intimate. 

It didn’t mean he wasn’t at risk at all, though. There could always be the crazy lone activist, Roth supposed, and Nickel’s wealth alone posed a risk, as well. At least Nickel’s old pop had been paranoid enough about someone kidnapping his son for ransom, and other horrifying scenarios, that he’d hired a personal bodyguard, and had spent large sums transforming the Wren Mansion into a virtual fortress, before he’d left for the mountains. 

Roth might occasionally think the old man was overreacting just a tad, but how could he blame him. He’d lost one son, and it wasn’t strange he was a bit overprotective of the other. This, together with a general sense of society becoming increasingly worse, which, Roth thought, elderly people so often insisted on, had made the Head Lord loosen the purse strings. 

He had to admit, for the work he was actually doing, they paid him ridiculously well. There were never any problems, either, whenever he wanted to add some new and better piece of equipment to the already advanced system of alarms and surveillance cameras over at the mansion. 

In time, Roth had understood he should consider these things something akin to a miracle. In spite of the clan’s wealth, the old lord was somewhat of a miser. He usually had a tight grip of the wallet, and kept harping on his son for wasting money. 

Miserly as he might be, old Lord Wren _had_ been generous when it came to security, needed or not.

Yeah, his life wasn’t overly exciting these days, but he wouldn’t complain. He was getting old anyway, Roth thought, grinning to himself while he drove back to his small apartment in the South End. Maybe, at thirty-five, staking out an alcoholic veterinarian was all the excitement he needed.

He’d call Nickel when he got home, and then, an evening in front the TV, with a pizza, a beer, and a cat on his lap, was waiting for him. It wasn’t too bad for a weeknight.


	18. Attendance Training and Sleepless Nights

Taven helped his master move a few desks to clear a section of the floor in the middle of the classroom, not knowing why, or what the man had in mind for him this morning. He was going to learn how ‘to attend’, that much he’d understood, but he didn’t know what this actually meant. Taven vaguely remembered his master had once said attending was mostly ‘following him around’ and that was all he knew about it. You needed special training for that? 

“All right,” his master said, as they finished moving the desks. “Do you remember us speaking about how being my attendant is mostly ‘following me around’?” 

Taven blinked, was the man reading his mind? “Yeah?” he said.

“Good. Well, there’s more to it, but attending in public _is_ an important part so I thought we should start with that. ‘Following someone around’ isn’t as easy as it sounds…” His master silenced and studied him for a moment; before giving him that ever-encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, boy, it isn’t hard either, you’ll catch on quickly.” 

Yeah, right, Taven thought. His master always thought he would, but he’d been fucking wrong, so far. The stupid slave he’d bought would never ‘catch on quickly’. Taven found a sort of sinister pleasure in the fact that apparently neither did his owner, as he refused to give up on trying teaching him stuff.

He said nothing, though, and his master went on.

“Well, I’ll explain. An attending slave is to stay close to their owner, at all times, standing or walking behind them, and stay behind their chairs. The slave is there to assist with the smaller things so the owner doesn’t have to keep their minds on it. We’re talking about a dinner or a party, Taven, where free people want to keep their attention on each other, and have a nice time. The slave will hold things for them; take their empty glasses, help with their chairs, and so on. Are you with me so far, boy?”

Taven’s mind was already spinning. “How can I hold a lot of glasses, Master,” he said. “I’ll drop them, and- and if I’m gonna hold a lot of other stuff, too, and… How you gonna do that?”

His master sighed deeply. “I’m sure you understand; if you’d only stop to think a little before you speak, no master would demand of their slave to hold on to _every_ glass he might empty during the night.” The man shook his head. “There will be waiters with trays circulating the room to take empty glasses and offer new ones, but if there’s no waiter close by at the moment, the master will hand the glass to his slave until one comes their way.” 

Taven looked down, red in the face. Just how stupid was he?

His master chuckled. “It’s all right, boy. How could you know? Well,” he continued, “we’ll go over all such details later. The important thing is, when you stand and walk behind me you do it the right way.”

Taven wanted to scream, he didn’t fucking _get_ this. How the fuck did you stand and walk in ‘the right way’? Since the day at the doctor’s Taven had tried not to make trouble, and had done his best not to provoke the man, but his master made it so hard. “I ain’t fucking gonna get this, Master, ever.” he whined.

“Mind your language, slave,” his master reprimanded him. “I’ve told you a million times, no swearing!” The milder version of his master returned. “I don’t follow, boy. What is it you find so hard to understand?”

Taven almost jumped up and down in exasperation. As so many times before he wished his owner would just beat him, or something, anything, but forcing him to explain himself. He didn’t have the words. “How are you gonna stand in a right way, Master?” He finally tried. “Like, you just stand, right? How is there a ‘right way’?”

“There are many different ways of standing and walking, don’t you see? Don’t despair so quickly, I’ll explain.” His master waved him closer and reached a hand out. “I’m right handed,” he said. “If I’m holding something I want you to take, I’ll automatically turn to the right, like this,” he turned his upper body without moving his feet, stretching his arm back to an imaginary person behind him. “This is why my attending slave will always stand behind me, but _slightly to the right_. Do you understand? When you keep this position, you are standing in ‘the right way’.”

Oh, Taven thought. When his master explained it like that, it did make sense.

“When I’m walking about,” his master continued, “and you’re following me, if you walk too slow you might not be close enough to serve properly when I need you to, but if you walk too fast, you might bump into me. There’s an ideal distance, and if you keep it – you’re _walking_ the right way. Understand?”

Taven nodded. He did. He understood. If there was a reason to what you were ordered, then there was a wrong or a right way. “I get it now, Master,” he said, trying to hide how relieved he was to get anything at all. 

“Well, it’s a start, I suppose,” his master said. “Now, what I want you to do this morning is to walk with me. It’s not hard, but it does demand practice. Remember, you can’t walk too closely, or you’d be in the way, and falling behind is not appropriate. A slave who is lagging will appear lazy and distracted, and as if he’s not paying attention to his master.”

“Yeah, I get it, Master,” Taven repeated impatiently, eager to get the lesson over with. The whole thing sounded very easy all of a sudden. “I can do that!” he said. “We don’t need this.”

His master shook his head. “I know you can do it, but it’s more complicated than you think. We _will_ need to practice this.”

Taven still didn’t believe only walking at the right distance behind someone would be so fucking hard, and it probably showed on his face. The man frowned. 

“You have to take into consideration,” he said, “I’m not going to move at a consistent pace or in a constant straight line. I’ll be all over the place, talking to different people. I’ll walk faster to catch up with someone, I’ll make sudden stops or turns, and all the time there will be other guests in the way. Many of them will have attending slaves with them as well, and there will be waiters crossing the room. You can’t bump into _any_ of these people.”

Taven started to squirm.

“In spite of all this,” his master went on, “you’ll still have to follow me at the right distance, and at once be at my side in the right spot whenever I halt. You can’t depend on me guiding you to manage this. Do you understand I will probably not pay any attention to you whatsoever for most of the evening? Your job is to make it easier for me to pay attention to _other_ people.”

Again, his master silenced to look at him thoughtfully.

“Oh, I probably won’t ignore you completely, boy,” he added, his voice softening. “I’ll speak a few words to you now and then if needed, of course I will. I only mean you can’t depend on me to do your work. You have to know how to act anyway.”

Taven’s stomach rapidly turned into a painfully knotted up bundle. What had sounded so easy a few seconds ago now seemed like the most difficult thing in the world again. “Master, I can’t…”

“Oh, don’t start!” his master interrupted him angrily. “You _can_, Taven,” he insisted. “I know you can. It only takes practice, that’s all, and we have plenty of time.”

Without further ado, his master turned his back to him, and looked over his shoulder. “Let’s start right away,” he ordered. “Come stand behind me!”

Taven obeyed with a sulky pout.

“That’s good, Taven, just take one step back… Perfect. Now, I’ll walk, and you’ll follow. Try to keep this distance.”

His master started walking as he was still speaking, and Taven was slow to react. He thought he was lagging already and hurried to catch up, and… Damn, Taven stepped on the man’s heel first thing, making his master step out of his shoe. He turned around with a deep sigh, looking pointedly at his exposed sock.

Taven cringed. “Uh, sorry, Master.”

The man didn’t say anything, only reached for his shoe, put it on, and turned his back to him. “Try again!” he ordered.

His master circled the cleared section a few times and Taven managed to follow at a suitable distance without problems, then he veered out between the desks, taking slow turns around them. Taven still managed to follow, until his master made a sudden and sharp turn. 

He bumped right in to the man. 

Somehow, their legs were entangled and his master was obviously not able to halt his forward motion. He fell, instinctively grabbing on to Taven for support. Taven wasn’t more balanced than his master, and was pulled into the fall. They both crashed to the floor in an ungraceful heap, where Taven suddenly found himself sprawled on top his master.

Red as a beet in the face Taven flailed until he found enough leverage with his hands against the floor, on either side of his master’s shoulders, to be able to push himself to his feet again. Face still glowing he hurriedly stepped away.

His master sat up on the floor with a groan, brushing off his shoulders. “Don’t worry, boy,” he said, shaking with badly repressed laughter. He got to his feet and brushed off his pants as well. “Things happen, and this was only your second try. No harm done, we’ll try again.”

In spite of his master’s amusement and assuring words, Taven was still near tears from sheer embarrassment. He was a fucking clumsy idiot, and he’d _never_ get the hang of this.

His master turned his back to him once more and waved for him to come up behind him. Taven reluctantly obeyed. He was angry now. That had been such a fucking sneaky move, just turning like that, with no damn warning. 

Again, it was as if the man could read his mind. “I didn’t try to trip you up, boy,” he explained. “But this _is_ what it will be like, sudden stops or turns. I suppose I don’t need to tell you we shouldn’t roll around on the floor in public. You will need to pay constant attention to what I’m doing and be quick to adjust yourself accordingly. Accidents can happen, but with enough practice it doesn’t have to be this bad.”

Taven sneered at his master’s back. Okay, he got it. They needed to practice. He was determined to pay attention from now on. Damn if he would let the man trick him like this one more time.

They started their weird dance across the creaky old floorboards again.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel couldn’t sleep.

Falling asleep wasn’t something he usually had a problem with, but there usually wasn’t this much on his mind. On several occasions lately, he’d found himself lying awake until well after midnight, staring up into the canopy overhead, his thoughts spinning around in his head.

Yesterday evening Roth had called with news both disappointing and exciting. He’d found the doctor who had performed the makeshift operation on Taven’s chest, and Nickel was surprised to learn the man wasn’t a doctor at all, but a veterinarian. Nickel had been even angrier at this, but it was good they knew who, and what, the man was. It would be easier now, he was sure, to put the man out of business. A veterinarian treating humans, slaves or not, it simply _had_ to be against the law. 

Roth had had to disappoint him though when it came to James Swift. He’d found no information at all about the man, apart from his address, and had told Nickel there was nothing they could do, at least not at the moment.

Nickel found this hard to accept. Every day he was a witness to Taven’s damages and shortcomings, and it was all that man’s fault. 

Everything was a struggle with the boy. 

The morning after the visit to the doctor’s, Nickel had bought the medication Taven would need, but had soon realized the slave couldn’t handle medicating himself. Taven could barely read the instructions on the boxes, and seemed unable to remember how many pills he was to take of a certain kind, and at what times. Managing several kinds of pills with different instructions confused the boy to no end. Nickel had to handle it for him. He kept the medicines in his own bathroom cabinet, giving Taven the right pill at the correct time, making sure he took them. 

It was an unwelcome addition to the problems in the classroom.

Nickel had thought that putting the books aside for a while, and teach Taven something practical instead might be a good idea, but he feared Taven wasn’t good at learning personal service either. Their first attendance training session yesterday had seemed to indicate certain clumsiness on the slave’s part. Taven hadn’t made them fall over more than once, but had showed no promise of elegance in his movements either. 

Well, it had only been the first lesson, and they had plenty of time to work on it. Nickel forced himself to stay optimistic. Besides, amongst all his worried thoughts, the memory of Taven falling on top of him, the slave’s lean body pressed against his, was quite pleasurable. He couldn’t help smiling at how much the sudden closeness had seemed to embarrass the boy. 

Such amusing, not to say titillating, moments were few and far in between, though. 

Again, Nickel was angry when he thought about how pleasant things could have been. Swift had cruelly ruined something much more valuable than he should have ever been able to get his dirty hands on in the first place, and it was simply so frustrating the bastard would just get away with it.

However, hateful anger was the least complicated of the contradictory feelings that robbed Nickel of his night’s rest. 

Nickel constantly fought with his urges to give in to compassion, and pamper and coddle Taven in a sort of vain effort to make him forget what had happened to him. He knew it wouldn’t be a good idea, even if it was possible. 

If he spoiled the boy too much, it could put Taven in danger. Society didn’t look kindly on a slave who acted out the way Taven did. The law didn’t permit you kept a slave who could be a threat, or an affront, to free people. If someone witnessed Taven’s behavior and reported it to the authorities, they might take the boy away from him, and if that happened… Nickel didn’t want to finish the thought, but he knew what it would mean. The state had no interest in retraining, nor did they care what had caused the problems in the first place. There were no mitigating circumstances. They _would_ destroy him. 

Taven’s behavior might be some kind of mental survival strategy, Nickel thought, but it could end up killing him instead. Maybe raging and acting out was what he needed, to start to heal from what he’d been through, but Nickel couldn’t keep allowing such things. 

Nickel had often been frustrated over the fact he knew so little about how to help the boy, but he realized a full recovery wouldn’t be in his best interest in any case. All slaves were, to some extent, subdued, and that’s how it had to be. No matter how sorry he felt for the poor thing, he had to be a _master_ first, and curb this behavior. It was either that, or he kept Taven completely isolated in the future. Naturally, he didn’t want to do such a thing.

No matter how tempting it was, he should coddle Taven less, and be harder on him instead.

Nickel sighed deeply, turning over in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. Being a master had never been this complicated before. What if he was _too_ hard on the boy? He certainly didn’t want to become just another abusing owner. Where was that line? If he disciplined Taven too harshly, what damaging effects could it have?

Dr. Cordeaux had advised him not to use corporal punishment, and, well, it was an easy decision that he’d already made on his own. Nickel wouldn’t beat Taven, but he wondered what else was safe to do.

Nickel had this ominous feeling he hadn’t even seen half of Taven’s issues. What kind of ‘demons’ were the slave still hiding inside? It greatly worried him he didn’t know, and that it was impossible to tell in what way they would manifest, or what would trigger them. 

How could Nickel be sure he wasn’t only making things worse? 

There was usually a moment at the end of these sleepless musings where Nickel couldn’t help almost regretting buying the slave in the first place. He didn’t want to deal with issues like this, and he didn’t think he was especially qualified to. What had happened to the boy wasn’t Nickel’s fault, after all. Why should it be on him to mend something he hadn't broken? However, he _had_ bought the boy, and if he ruined Taven further now, or even caused his death, it _would_ be on him.

In the next moment, even a hint of regret made him feel bad. He remembered Taven’s words in the car outside of Dr. Cordeaux’s practice: ‘_you’re not gonna want me now_,’ he’d wept. ‘_And no one else is gonna want me either_’. The boy had no one else, and it wasn’t his fault Nickel had bought him, not knowing what he was getting himself into. 

No, Nickel wouldn’t give up on the boy, of course he wouldn’t. He’d have to handle Taven as best he could, and follow his instincts. There were enough practical matters to attend to. Nickel would keep them both too busy to fall apart, and in the end, things would surely be all right. 

He had to believe they would.


	19. Going Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s double-posting-time again.:-) Hope you’ll enjoy.
> 
> /Fran

“You look very nice, boy.” Nickel smiled, holding the slave by the shoulders, looking him over. He’d just dressed Taven for a night out and was pleased with the result. Some might say all black was a bit too somber for an attending slave, but it simply looked so good on the boy, especially with his hair loose. Green would have done, as well, Nickel supposed, complimenting the red hair, but it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? “I’ll have the best-looking attendant tonight, no doubt,” he said.

Taven only looked away at his master’s words.

Nickel was amused. Compliments of all kinds always seemed to make Taven so self-conscious and awkward. “I’m simply stating a fact here, boy,” he said. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I ain’t fu… I ain’t embarrassed,” Taven sneered, only just barely managing to stop the swearword from spilling over his lips.

Nickel shook his head and gave the slave a deep and displeased frown.

Minding your language was one of the things Nickel had tried to be much stricter about these last couple of weeks. Attendance training hadn’t been going well, not at first, and Nickel had felt close to giving up several times, but in the end, things had worked out better than expected. Taven had even made an extra effort not to swear. He still couldn't make the slave conduct himself with the elegance one would expect from an attending exotic, but at least he knew what to do, and had eventually done so passably well. Things would be fine tonight, Nickel was sure, _if_ Taven could remember to keep that foul mouth of his shut.

“Is this a proper way to speak to your master, slave? Well?” Nickel admonished him.

Taven hung his head. “…no, Master,” he murmured. There was still an obvious tone of defiance in his voice.

Nickel shook his head again. The last lessons had been going well enough he had thought the next step should be to let Taven practice his new skills in a genuine situation. The Club had seemed the most suitable place.

What the clans simply called ‘The Club’ was an old fashionable building in the richest and most exclusive part of the inner city. The clans that lived in and around the city used the place for parties and gatherings, and they kept it strictly clan. Only clan members, and their attending slaves, were let through the inner doors. The press was prohibited, and the house had its own security. Nickel wouldn’t be allowed to bring Roth, for example, not even as a bodyguard, much less as an invited friend. 

Individual clan members could book the building for private parties or family gatherings, as well, and various clan organizations used the premises for their meetings, too. On the last of every month, The Club also hosted an ‘open house’ in the form of an informal ‘mingling party’ for any clan member who cared to show up, no invitation needed. At certain times during the year, these open parties could be a big affair, while at others they were quite the dull evenings with only a few participants. 

Tonight was the last of the month, but it was an ordinary weekday, and the summer season hadn’t yet started. This would be one of those dull parties, Nickel was sure, and that’s exactly what he needed. It was a chance for Taven to attend in public, but on an entirely uneventful and slow night, as well as in the relative privacy of an exclusive club. 

Nickel rarely attended these parties, and it had been over a year since he’d set foot at The Club last, but he had to say he was excited about going there tonight, with his new slave. He didn’t want to admit it, but in spite of his earlier contemptuous views of such things, he wanted to show Taven off. This excitement was rapidly diminishing, as Taven was obviously not as eager to be shown off.

“If you think behaving badly will make me leave you at home,” Nickel said, tightening his grip of Taven’s shoulders in warning, “it’s not going to work. I can see right through you, boy.”

Taven hung his head deeper, and didn’t answer.

Nickel was annoyed. “I don’t understand what your problem is. It’s been going so well lately. You know what to do; you know how you’re supposed to act. Don’t start making trouble, not now when we’re just about to leave. I’m warning you!”

Taven looked up at him then, desperation in his eyes. “I’m not making trouble,” he said. “I- I’m not, like, ready for all this shit. Don’t take me, Master, please!”

“Now, now, you’re going to be fine, and there has to be a first time, _some_ time.”

“Yeah, but, can’t it be another time? Please.”

“Taven,” Nickel patiently continued. “I know you’re nervous, but you can do it. Remember how much we’ve practiced? You’ll do just fine.”

“No, I won’t,” Taven protested. “I’m not made for this shit, Master. I’m just some fucking whore, why can’t you get that. You think I’m gonna do everything right, but I’ll fucking screw it up totally, and you’re gonna get pissed and throw me out on my ass.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, slave.” Nickel didn’t mean to sound so angry. He did understand how scary this must be for Taven, but he was so tired of the boy’s total lack of confidence in himself, _and_ this kind of whining. “I haven’t spent all this time training you only to leave you at home,” he said. “You _are_ going to attend me tonight, and that’s that! Do you understand? And do _not_ call yourself a whore! Use that word again and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

Taven hung his head again, in miserable silence. 

Nickel’s annoyance gave way to insecurity. Maybe Taven was right, maybe the boy wasn’t ready, and he was making a big mistake taking such a slave out this early on in the training. Even if Taven did relatively well when they were alone it was no guarantee he wouldn’t lose it completely with the stress of actually serving among people. 

He pushed these worries aside. Taven shouldn’t think he only needed to sulk and whine and his master would let him off the hook. That wouldn’t do. What kind of message would that send to a slave of such difficult nature, if the master caved in so easily? No, the order would stand. Taven knew what to do, and all he needed was a reminder of how important it was he behaved.

“You’re going,” Nickel repeated, “and you _will_ behave, you hear me? If you do anything to let me down tonight, I will not be happy.” 

Nickel was prepared for defiance, but there were only tears in Taven’s eyes as he looked up at these strict warnings, and his lower lip quivered. Nickel’s heart melted at the sight.

He pulled the boy close and put an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, don’t cry, Taven. I didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded. I’m not demanding perfection. It’s your first time; I won’t hold a few minor mistakes against you. I was only afraid you might behave badly on purpose.”

“I’ve told you, Master,” Taven said, an indignant tone in his voice. “I told you long ago I wouldn’t do that. I ain’t lying.”

“I remember,” Nickel said. “I wish _you_ could remember I only want you to do your best. As long as you keep to what we practiced, you have nothing to worry about.”

Taven dried at his eyes and nodded.

Nickel caressed him over the head. “That’s a good boy. Now, go wash your face and we’ll be off.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven stared out the car windows from the backseat while they drove into the city, turning this way and that, trying to take it all in.

Since his master had bought him, the man had only taken him outside the estate on two occasions. One time to the old doctor, and then, a few days later, he’d been to the first appointment with the laser guy who would remove his tattoo. None of those visits had been nice, but at least he had seen parts of the city he’d never been to before. Just like tonight. For a moment, leaning halfway out of the seat to ogle the colorful lights of the night and huge blinking billboards downtown, he forgot how nauseatingly nervous he was about this fucking party they were going to. 

His master grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back into the seat beside him. “Sit still!” he ordered. “You’ll wrinkle your clothes, and mess up your hair.”

Taven murmured a ‘yes, master’ and settled back down. His master wasn’t the one driving tonight. A worker dressed in some kind of black uniform with a cap and a pair of white gloves was behind the wheel. Taven didn’t even know slaves could have driving licenses, but apparently, they could. 

Losing the ability to distract himself with the city views, Taven’s anxiousness returned. He didn’t like this; he didn’t like it at all. He’d tried to get out of it, but his master wasn’t buying it. Of course, his master didn’t fucking understand. Parties weren’t a good thing. When free people gathered to drink, it never ended well for any slave around. 

His master had explained to him, in detail, how these parties usually went, so he would know how to behave and how to serve, and Taven had to admit it sounded nothing like the drunken brawls he was used to. He still didn’t trust those descriptions. Anything could happen when free people were drinking. He was fucking scared, as if worrying about the consequences if he screwed up this whole ‘attendance thing’ wasn’t plaguing him enough already.

Taven discreetly glanced at the man beside him. What would his master be like when he was drunk? Yeah, his owner was usually kind of nice and all, most of the time, but that didn’t tell him anything. Taven had seen quiet people before, who had changed into fucking brutal bastards when they got drunk. He shuddered, what if his master just turned into a monster. There’d be nowhere to hide.

He had such a bad feeling about this whole fucking shit.


	20. The Club

They inevitably arrived at their destination. The chauffeur parked the car in a garage under the building, and then stepped outside to open the backdoor for them with a deep bow. His master only gave the worker a short nod getting out, and Taven trailed after him as he walked across the echoing concrete floors. 

He turned to look back over his shoulder while they waited for the elevator that was going to take them up into the building. The worker had got back in behind the wheel again, and Taven could see him take his cap and gloves off and shifting around in the seat to find a comfortable position. He would have many boring hours ahead of him now, with nothing to do than to wait. On the other hand, maybe it was a welcome opportunity for a few hours extra sleep, what did Taven know? He only wished he could have stayed in the car, too, even though the garage was cold and smelly.

When the elevator doors opened, his master turned to give him an encouraging smile and a comforting rub of his shoulders. It didn’t help much. 

The ride up was way too short. 

Taven’s knees were shaking by the time they were ushered through a pair of twin doors into a large hall by a bowing slave who had also taken their jackets. He still tried his best to walk behind his master at the right distance, and he was relieved the space was indeed this big, and that there didn’t seem to be many people around. There were no more than maybe twenty-five guests in the room, not counting slaves. The less people he risked bumping into, the better. 

His master found someone to talk to right away, some old woman, and for the moment, Taven had nothing else to do than to stand still behind him. It gave him the opportunity to study the other people in the hall. He tried not to stare openly; his master had told him many times just how inappropriate that was. Taven didn’t need a closer look anyway to decide they were all mean fucking bastards and total shitheads. It made him feel at least a little bit better. 

He still had to gape in wonder; he’d never seen people like this before. Especially the ladies drew his gaze, with their pretty dresses and glittering jewelry. 

His master’s descriptions had been correct, though, it seemed. So far, this didn’t look like any party Taven had ever been forced to attend. People just stood there and talked, giving each other fake smiles, with some kind of soft tune in the background. There was no dancing to blaring music, or yelling, or throwing things. No tables full of emptied beer cans, overflowing ashtrays and snack bowls pushed down on the floor. No fights breaking out, no slaves forced to do a lot of nasty stuff, or people throwing up in a corner.

It wasn’t as if Taven would complain about it, but from a free person’s point of view clan parties must be the most boring thing ever. His master had told him he hadn’t been here for a year. No wonder. On the other hand, the night had only started…

The old woman was talking a lot, his master still wasn’t moving, and Taven forgot to keep his attention on the man. He started to check out the other slaves. The waiters didn’t interest him, though, not like the other attendants. Taven was supposed to be like them, after all, and he couldn’t help comparing. There were less of them than he’d thought; only a few of the guests had brought an attendant. They were both males and females, but all of them were young and fairly good-looking, and none of them seemed as nervous and insecure as he felt. Taven was sure that’s because they were all better at their job than he was. 

At least none of them had hair even remotely as long as his. His master had said he would be the best-looking attendant, and though Taven didn’t know about that, he doubted any of the others was an exotic. 

Well, he wouldn’t be talking to them to find out. His master had explained slaves weren’t allowed to speak with each other at these nights. They were here to work, nothing else. Taven didn’t mind, he was relieved even. He wouldn’t have known what the fuck to say to these slaves anyway. They were as foreign to him as the lords and ladies, and looked as fucking snooty. 

Taven was abruptly brought out of his musings when his owner reached back and poked at his chest, looking over his shoulder with an annoyed expression. Taven realized he was trying to give him a glass and hurried to take it. Shit, he had to shape up and stay attentive, or he’d screw this whole thing up right away. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed when his master had been served a drink. He sniffed the glass. Alcohol. He’d finished it very fast, hadn’t he? Was the man going to gulp down drinks like this all night?

His master finally moved on and Taven followed. The man walked here and there, talking shortly to several different people, and as long as Taven stayed attentive, he wasn’t doing too badly. Somehow, he even managed to get rid of the empty glass – putting it on the tray of a passing waiter who didn’t slow down for him or even looked at him – without losing his concentration, only to get another glass pushed into his hands a few minutes later. 

What the fuck.

By the third emptied glass, Taven started to worry for real. He studied his master as he was speaking with some lord. Didn’t he act strange, like, talked louder than usual, smiled and laughed in a creepily fake way? Taven hardly recognized the man, he thought. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like it at all.

Again, the conversation dragged on, and in spite of Taven’s best intentions, his eyes started to wander. He spotted this lady a bit farther away who was so pretty he wondered he hadn’t noticed her until now. The woman was tall and slim, wore a black dress, had huge breasts and shiny blond hair arranged in big curls over her shoulders. She was just so beautiful; he couldn’t stop ogling her.

Taven didn’t know what he thought of girls. He’d never had much to do with the opposite sex overall, neither free women, nor slave girls, much less had had sex with any. 

The only woman he’d really been around was his first master’s browbeaten wife. She’d never touched him in that way and had been cold and distant toward him, talking to him as little as possible. The elderly couple had kept him mostly hidden from other people, as well, and hadn’t seemed to socialize much in any case. Taven had almost never seen other people around their apartment.

At Swift’s place, it had been different. There had been an almost constant stream of people coming and going. Some of them had been women, but none of them had ever asked to use him. They had all been free prostitutes, Taven knew. He guessed, after a long night in the street, the last thing they wanted was to force some scrawny teenage boy into bed with them. Why would they waste their hard-earned money on him? They had usually completely ignored him. 

Taven hadn’t exactly been sad about that. Men used him, and no matter how bad it could be, he was at least familiar with it. What women would do, he had no fucking idea. Besides, none of those women had looked like this lady; that’s for sure.

It took Taven a while to realize the pretty woman was looking back at him, her expression a strange mix of a puzzled frown and an amused smile. He winced, speedily looked down and hid behind his master’s back, but it was too late. 

The woman walked up to them. 

“What are you doing?” his master hissed at him, where he was practically pressed up against the man’s back. Clearly, he was standing much too close. 

His master pushed him farther back and turned his attention to the approaching lady.

She reached out a jeweled hand. “Nickel Wren, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling.

His master took the woman’s hand and it was easy to see, for anyone with even half an eye, how affected he was by her beauty. The man was grinning like an idiot. 

“It is, but… I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure…?”

She looked back over her shoulder and pointed to the small group of people she had just left. “I’m Celine Moon. There’s my uncle, Head Lord Roger Moon. I assume you know him?” 

“Yes, of course,” his master said, moaning as if he’d just made a big blunder. “We must have met at the Moon Mansion as children. Your uncle sometimes kindly invited us over to play with all of you cousins. I have to apologize, I didn’t remember. In my defense though, there are so darn many of you.”

The woman laughed politely. “I remember _you_, “she said, “and your brother, not least. He was a real charmer... Well, you’ve grown into quite a man, haven’t you?”

“So have you, so have you… Uh, naturally I meant you’ve grown into quite a _woman_.” 

Taven stared. His master was always so sure of himself, but he looked kind of nervous now. 

The lady laughed again, and his master seemed to scramble for something else to say. “I’ve never seen you at The Club before,” he said. “I’m sure I would have remembered.” 

“Oh, I haven’t been in this dreary city for years and years,” the lady answered. “I’ve been traveling abroad and lived with clan members down south. I’ve just recently moved back and Uncle Roger talked me into coming tonight. He practically twisted my arm.” She looked round the sparsely populated hall with ill-concealed contempt. “And now I remember why I haven’t been here for so long. Well, I was just about to leave, but I thought I should come up and say hello first, not least considering how openly I was being stared at.” She winked at him with a teasing smile. 

His master looked confused. “Excuse me?”

Taven winced again, his heart beating hard in his chest.

“Oh, it wasn’t you.” The woman kept smiling. “It was him.” 

The lady pointed straight at him and Taven wanted to just turn and run. 

Running immediately became a non-option. His master quickly spun around at the woman’s words and grabbed a hold of his upper arm, pulling him close. “Did you stare at her?” the man growled, tightening the grip. 

Taven was tongue-tied, but he was sure the fact that his ears and face were a glowing red was all the answer his owner would need. 

The woman giggled behind them. “Really, as if he’d never seen a woman before.” 

His master’s lips thinned and the grip turned almost painful. “Well?”

Taven avoided his eyes. What the hell did the man want him to say? It wasn’t as if he could claim he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to stare at people. His master had informed him of this rule a hundred times. He’d never been told the punishment if he did, though. Taven hoped his owner would at least not beat him right here and now. Maybe, if it wasn’t a thing you did at these fancy parties, the man would wait until they returned home. Hopefully, he would have calmed down by then.

“Oh, Nickel, don’t chide the poor thing,” the lady spoke again. “It’s just a silly boy, after all.”

His master let go of him and turned back. “Are you sure? I do apologize. He was bought outside the clans and aren’t used to these environments.” 

“I’m quite sure,” the woman said. “Besides, I don’t think I would have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact I was staring myself. Your boy is an exotic, isn’t he?”

“Indeed he is,” his master answered, smiling again, looking proud.

“Oh, I knew I was right.” The lady leaned in to study him closer. “Those freckles are _so_ cute,” she said, making a delighted little sound, “and such delicate features, and the hair… On my word, I’ve never seen hair like this.” She lifted a hand toward his head. “Do you mind?”

She asked his master, of course, not him. The man only shook his head and made him turn around.

Taven nearly stopped breathing when he felt her fingers in his hair. “Amazing!” she said. “Is this color real?”

“It sure is,” his master answered, while he had him face them again, spinning him back around with a hand on his shoulder, “one hundred percent genuine.”

“One could only dream of having hair like this. What do you do, to make it so smooth and shiny?”

It took Taven a moment to realize for the first time the lady was actually addressing him directly, and by then he was completely tongue-tied again. 

His master squeezed his shoulder. “You were asked a question, boy.”

“Uh, I… Uh…” he finally managed, desperately trying to get something out. “I ain’t doing nothing, Sir… Uh, _Miss_. It’s just like that.” 

She raised her eyebrows, but then burst out into a small laugh. “Yes, of course. One has to spend hours at the hairdresser’s and spend a fortune on hair care products, and then God puts the perfect hair on some random slave boy who ‘ain’t doing nothing’.” 

Taven frowned. Was she making fun of him?

His master had no chance to reply, as at that moment a young man walked up to them, interrupting the conversation. He sneaked up behind the lady and put a possessive arm around her tiny waist, eyeing his master with obvious jealous suspicion and the fakest smile Taven had seen so far. 

The lady introduced the newcomer as her fiancé.

“I was just admiring Nickel’s little attendant,” she informed him, after the necessary introductions and limp handshakes were gotten out of the way. “Have you ever seen such hair, darling? Isn’t he just adorable? Let’s find one like that… Oh, wait! Let’s look for a pair, a girl _and_ a boy. Imagine two of them, redheaded, delicately framed and freckled. Wouldn’t it be spectacular? What do you say, darling?”

The fiancé gave Taven an utterly contemptuous look. “Darling,” he said. “These freaky exotics are completely out of fashion. Why bother?”

The pretty lady neither agreed, nor disagreed, but unsuccessfully tried to hide a giggle behind her hand. 

What the fuck, Taven thought, but he looked at his master with a cold lump forming in his stomach. Would _he_ agree?

His master gave the couple a look of purest ice and a smile that held no friendliness in it whatsoever. “Indeed,” he said. “I suppose, if you’re one of those people who are a complete victim to fashion trends, and are totally unable to think for yourself, then yes, why bother, _indeed_.”

Wow, Taven thought. This openly cold and poisonous side of his master wasn’t something he’d seen before. He was glad the man had directed it at someone else.

The young couple had no comeback. They awkwardly mumbled something about how they _had_ been on their way out, really, and walked off. 

Taven wasn’t sad to see them go. Fucking shitheads.

His master grabbed a fourth glass from a waiter passing by and gulped down almost half of it in one go while they watched the young couple leaving the hall. He rolled his eyes at their backs and turned to Taven, leaning down to speak in his ear. “Such complete _nitwits_.” he sneered.

\-----o0o-----

His master was only sipping at his fifth drink, Taven reported to himself, nervously keeping track of the man’s drinking, but he was already far from sober. At the moment, his owner wasn’t talking to anyone and kept shifting feet and rocking on his heels while he looked about him with an annoyed frown. The man was bored, Taven thought. It greatly worried him. A master who was both drunk _and_ bored… that was a volatile combination.

They were standing in direct view of the twin entry doors and Taven watched as they were opened to let a late guest in. The people nearest the doors all turned their heads to stare when he walked in. Taven stared, too, and he didn’t wonder at all that the man who had just entered the hall would draw the attention of everybody around him as he sauntered through the room. 

The unknown man could have been the male twin of that beautiful lady from before, Taven thought, gaping at the sight. He was likewise tall and slim and had light blond hair that reached his shoulders. His face could definitely compete with hers on any day it was that beautiful! In contrast to the pretty lady’s black dress though, the newcomer had perfectly outfitted himself in a white suit that showed off his elegant frame, a pair of diamond studs sparkling in his ears. 

Surprised, Taven soon noticed how the lords and ladies, whose eyes followed the newcomer’s gait across the floor, didn’t seem to be nearly as impressed as he was, after all. They frowned, sneered contemptuously, and whispered to each other with disapproving looks. 

Stunning as the man in the white suit was, apparently that _wasn’t_ the reason people stared.

Taven wondered what he’d done to be so unpopular among his own kind, but it didn’t seem to bother the handsome man in any case. He ignored everybody completely and went to stand against the wall, languidly looking about the hall with his hands behind his back, not even trying to speak to someone. 

A small laugh in Taven’s ear finally drew his attention away from the blond man. “Found someone else to stare at?” his master said.

Taven quickly looked down. “I wasn’t,” he lied.

“Oh, you were, boy,” his master said, “but it hardly matters in this case. Besides, I suppose I can’t blame you. You’re impressed with the young man’s looks, I gather?” The man sounded amused, not angry. 

“Yeah, Master,” Taven admitted. “He’s like… like…” He silenced. How the hell did you describe someone who was so fucking good-looking? As usual, Taven didn’t have the words.

“Yes, exactly,” his master said, maybe thinking wordless admiration was just the thing here anyway. “So, who do you think he is?”

Taven was confused with his chatty master now. His owner had said he wouldn’t talk to him while he was attending. He supposed the man was just _that_ bored. 

“I don’t know, Master,” he said. “Is he like a prince, or something?”

His master might have wanted to keep the conversation with his slave a discreet one, but he gave up a loud laugh at that, nearly spurting the mouthful of alcohol he’d just had. 

“A prince no less. Goodness! All right, no more fairy tale books for you.” His master kept chuckling and chortling. “Serenity is definitely not a prince, boy,” he explained. “He’s only a personal attending slave, just like you. Well, maybe not quite like others, but a slave nevertheless.”

No fucking way. Taven stared; he couldn’t believe it. 

He was still trying to take in how this could even be possible, when the blond man spotted his master, and came up to them, bowing deeply.

“Master,” he said in greeting. “It’s been a long time.” 

“So,” his master said. “Serenity… I’m surprised to see you. I talked to Constantine earlier and I thought he hadn’t brought you tonight.”

“He didn’t. He promised me I wouldn’t have to go, but… Of course, he changed his mind and had the damn chauffeur come and get me. So, well, here I am.” The pretty man smiled widely, and winked at his master.

“Yes, I can see that,” his master replied. “I can also see your manners haven’t improved in the least. Shouldn’t you be looking for your master then, instead of talking to me?”

“Sometimes,” the blond slave said, leaning in closer. “I pretend you _are_ my master.”

Taven looked back and forth between the two men. He couldn’t make any sense at all of this strange conversation. A slave couldn’t just walk up to a lord and start chatting with him… could they?

“Well,” his master replied. “I’m not, and if I was, I would never allow you to leave the house like this. Really, Serenity, a suit? Shouldn’t you know better?”

The blond man rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know, Master, only for free men, and yada, yada. Well, I’m not wearing a tie and no shoes either so… Is it really a formally worn suit like this? They can’t say it is. Besides, this is hand-tailored vintage. It’s a fantastic quality and a perfect fit. How could I resist? Doesn’t it look good on me?” 

Taven looked down at the slave’s words, and his eyes widened. He really wasn’t wearing shoes. How could he have missed a man dressed like this being completely barefooted?

“How you look, isn’t the point,” his master said. “You only walk inside, and people are annoyed with you already.”

The blond man only shrugged his shoulders and kept smiling. 

“If you were at all capable of behaving it wouldn’t keep happening,” his master remarked.

“I’m not? Didn’t I always behave to _your_ satisfaction, Master?”

Taven was more confused by the second and not only by the slave’s forwardness. There was something going on here but damn if he could understand what it was. 

“Well, if we’re talking about that kind of behavior now, then, yes, you’re satisfying _everybody_, aren’t you, eh, Serenity?” 

Taven stared. The cold version of his master was back, his words virtually dripping with poison. However, this time he had no idea what had brought it on, or what the other slave might have done. It was unnerving. 

His master gulped down the rest of his drink in one fell swoop. “Tell me,” he continued, drying at his mouth with the backside of his hand. “Is there in fact one single man in this hall that you haven’t spread your legs for, a single woman you haven’t used that chatty tongue of yours on?”

Taven looked away, cold all over. There was no doubt anymore that it was sex they were talking about, and that many people had used this slave. It was also painfully clear his master was disgusted. 

Just how revolting and nasty was _he_ then in his owner’s eyes?

At these words, the blond slave finally stopped smiling and grinning. “Well,” he said, his voice almost faltering and his gaze dropping to his weirdly bare feet. “You sure know how to put a slave in his place, Master.”

There was no telling how this odd exchange would have ended if his master hadn’t been distracted. “Ah, well, there’s your master now,” he said, looking past the blond slave and waving to someone on the other side of the hall. “Constantine! Over here!” he called out.

Oh, that was the good-looking man’s master. Taven recognized him. His owner had talked to the now approaching lord earlier in the evening, too. He was much older than his own master was, in his sixties at least, maybe older, and was short and fat, with an enormous moustache. Overall, he looked much like those strange animals in a book from the classroom that his master had called ‘walruses’. 

The blond slave, which his master kept calling ‘Serenity’, turned and bowed as the old man came up to them. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t see you anywhere,” he said.

“It’s all right, boy,” the old man answered. He smiled and rubbed his slave’s arm tenderly. “I was in the restroom. Have you seen, Serenity? Nickel has finally gotten himself a little attendant.”

“Ah, yeah,” Serenity said. “I noticed him right away, hard not to, with hair like that.”

His master seemed to have forgotten the cold anger from a moment ago at the older lord’s arrival. He turned to take Taven by the arm and pulled him in into view. “Serenity, this is Taven,” he said. “Be nice!”

Taven squirmed in his grip. How the hell was it that the conversation had turned to him, _again_? He didn’t like it, and he sure as hell didn’t want his master to introduce him to that weird slave, or talk to him. 

The other slave completely confused him. He had perfect looks, moved and dressed like a free man and was apparently allowed to speak and behave any which way. No one needed to tell him this slave was in a completely different league. Taven was sure this one would have looked down on him even if he weren’t like fucking seven feet tall. Okay, the slave obviously wasn’t _that_ tall, but he still looked to be almost a head taller than every man in the hall, and this fact alone made Taven uneasy. 

Serenity was grinning widely again. “Oh, I’ll be nice, all right. He’s very cute. Great find, Master Nickel.” He winked at them.

Taven frowned up at Serenity. Was the bastard making fun of him? Anger welled up within him. He had to take a lot of shit from free people, at least if he wanted to live, but like hell he was going to take anything at all from another slave, no matter how fucking special he was. “I’m not cute to you,” he snarled. “You fucking…”

His master speedily interrupted him by simply putting a hand over his mouth, shutting him up. “His training has been somewhat neglected,” he hurried to explain. “I’m working on it.”

The ‘walrus man’ and his slave both raised their eyebrows in surprise, but then Serenity burst out laughing. “Hey, I like him already,” he said. He turned to the old man. “Master, would you allow me to see him again?”

Walrus man shook his head. “You’re asking the wrong person, my boy. That’s Nickel’s decision.”

Serenity turned to his master instead. “May I? Please?”

His master hesitated and Taven held his breath, hoping for a definite ‘no’. 

“We’ll see,” his master answered. “Maybe… I’m not promising you anything.”

Serenity opened his mouth as if he wanted to plead for a more positive answer, but the walrus man put a stop to it. “Now, now, Serenity,” he said. “You heard what Nickel said. Will you excuse us, Nickel? I left Portia with chatty old Patricia Moon, and I think she would appreciate if I rescued her.”

His master laughed. “I understand,” he said. “Good old Patricia captured me as soon as I walked through the doors earlier, and I thought I would never escape. Poor Portia.”

The walrus man laughed, too, patted his master’s shoulder amiably and left. Serenity lingered. “Bye, Taven,” he said. "Hope to see you another time then. You’re lucky to have ended up with Master Nickel,” he added before giving him a quick wave on the go, turning to catch up with the other lord in a few long strides.

He hadn’t answered. What the fuck was he to say to that? Taven looked at the old lord walking away across the floor with his attending slave casually following at a proper distance. Didn’t they look weird? Sort of like a soccer ball next to a flagpole. 

Taven backed into the right position again, behind his master, glancing up at the man as he went. 

He was lucky?


	21. Fucking Motherfucking Lords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s the deal. I will have a guest over this entire weekend at least, but I’m not entirely sure when they’ll arrive and leave exactly, so in case I will not be able to keep to the schedule and post on Sunday, I’m making the next double post early – today.
> 
> If it turns out my guest will stay longer, then this is an early posting, and I will resume posting again on Sunday March 8.  
However, if my guest will leave early, I’ll post as normal this Sunday, and then you can regard this posting as an unexpected bonus. :-) 
> 
> …and yeah, there will be double postings both today and whenever next time will be, on the account of some of these chapters being too short to post alone. 
> 
> Hope you will enjoy. 
> 
> /Fran

Taven waited.

Six drinks had finally taking their toll on his master, and he had had to take a piss. Taven would have preferred if he could have accompanied the man inside – he’d seen at least one other attendant do just that – but he’d been told to wait outside the restroom door. For the first time tonight, Taven was left on his own, and he didn’t like it at all. 

The restrooms were located to the side of the main hall in a large gallery. There was a wide staircase right in front of him, the side door they had emerged from earlier was farther off to his right, and immediately to his left there were a pair of large twin glass doors, leading out onto a balcony. People came up the stairs, or through the side door, for the restrooms, or to go out on the balcony for a smoke, and he was standing right in the crossroads of this traffic. 

A few men and women had walked past him already, but thankfully none of them had given him more than a fleeting glance. Taven shifted feet uneasily and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no one about at the moment, but he still retreated into the corner between the wall and a window facing out onto the balcony and tried to look as non-approachable as possible. 

He wished his master would hurry up in there. 

The side door opened and yet another guest exited the main hall and went for the balcony, already balancing an unlit cigarette on his lips. This one did more than glance at him, though, this one slowed down when he passed him and smiled before he pushed at the twin doors. Taven demonstratively looked away. 

Fuck, why did his master take so damn long? 

Taven felt more and more uneasy. The lord who had smiled at him was still checking him out. Every time Taven ventured a quick look through the window beside him, the man was there, puffing at his cigarette, grinning at him. 

He hugged himself tighter. What the hell was his master doing in there? How much fucking piss could one body contain? 

His hope that his master would finish up before the other man came inside again was soon crushed. The grinning lord flicked his half-smoked cigarette over the balcony railings and reached for the door handle. Taven wasn’t surprised in the least when he halted in front of him.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, grinning widely and leaning over him. Taven almost retched; the man reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. It didn’t remind him of anything good, and no matter how many times a similar stench had engulfed him in the past, he had never gotten used to it. He turned his head away in disgust.

The unknown lord wouldn’t have it. The man grabbed a hold of his chin and turned his head back, trying to focus on his face with bleary red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t you pretty,” he slurred. “Where have your master been hiding you? I’ve never seen a redheaded little girl around here before.” The man chuckled and put a hand at the back of his neck, tangling demanding fingers in his hair. 

What the fuck, Taven thought, was the bastard so fucking drunk he couldn’t even see he wasn’t a damn girl? He shuddered at the man’s touch and tried to duck under the hand and step away, but in spite of the man’s obvious intoxication, he quickly countered his move and blocked him off.

Taven was both scared and angry now. This fucking shithead shouldn’t do this, should he? He didn’t belong to this guy. Didn’t he have to ask his master’s permission? Not even Swift had let people touch him just like that. They had had to pay first, at the very least. He should tell the creep to fucking leave him alone.

On the other hand, the man wasn’t really doing anything, just holding a hand at the nape of his neck and talking to him, sort of like that pretty lady. His master _had_ warned him about his behavior, and telling a lord to fuck off would be misbehaving all right; he understood as much. Taven tried to stay as still and unresponsive as he possibly could, hoping the man would get bored and leave him alone. He had no such luck. 

“Now, now,” the man said. “Don’t be so cold to old Jan. Such an ugly scowl doesn’t become you. Hasn’t your master taught you to smile nicely?”

He was pressed him up against the wall, the man effectively trapping him with his much larger body only. Taven squirmed, fighting the panic that threatened within him. The lord leaned down to kiss him. “There, there, little girl,” he tried. “You’re not scared of old Jan, are you? I only want a kiss. See? A little kiss and a little caress… I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The man let go of his neck and clumsily groped him between the legs while trying to push his slimy tongue between his furiously clenched lips. “What the…?” the lord exclaimed, removing his hand from his crotch and pulling his head away, looking at him in surprise. It seemed he had found more in Taven’s pants than he’d expected. 

If Taven had hoped this realization would scare the man off, he was, again, cruelly let down. A wide grin slowly crept over the lord’s face. “Not a girl, eh? You’re a little man, aren’t you?” Unperturbed the man simply resumed his attempts to kiss him. “Oh, try to be at least a little bit accommodating, slave!” he complained as Taven kept trying to squirm away. “I know you’ll kiss as nicely as any girl, a boy like you… There, there, I told you! I won’t hurt you.” 

Taven’s mind was spinning, and it felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was an all too familiar feeling. He didn’t even know how many times someone larger and stronger had thrown themselves at him, and he’d panicked. Most of the times, he hadn’t fought them out of defiance, the fear and disgust had just taken him over, until he didn’t know what he was doing. 

It had been useless of course; it had never worked. He’d only ended up with a bloody lip or nose, his ankles tied to the bedposts, and those men doing what they wanted to do anyway. Panicking and fighting simply wasn’t of any fucking use at all, and still he never learned.

Taven managed to wrench an arm free and in pure desperation, he clawed and waved his hand in thin air, instinctively searching for something to grab at. His fingers brushed against some leaves and he reached for them, hardly a sane thought left in his mind. 

His hand closed around the stem of a plant and he lifted it off the windowsill, pot and all, with every intention of smashing it into the man’s head. Taven was going to fucking bash the bastard’s skull in. Anything to make the man let go, and leave him alone. To finally just be _left alone_. 

He didn’t do it. 

Somehow, even in his hazy mind, he must have understood, if he did, there was no saving him. He threw the pot instead, as far as he could muster, and it smashed into the marble floors with a loud crash.

The sudden noise startled the man enough to let go of him. He took a few unsteady steps backwards and looked about him with a confused expression. 

Having been let go, Taven’s fear and panic changed into red-hot anger in an instant, and there wasn’t anything in the world that could have stopped his tongue at that moment. “You fucking pervert faggot,” he yelled, completely out of control. “You fucking disgusting old creep. Fucking motherfucker son of a _bitch_… You- you…

“TAVEN!”

There _was_ something that could stop his tongue. His master’s roar made him go silent in the fraction of a second. In a sudden terrifyingly clear flash Taven realized what he was actually doing. He swallowed hard, frozen in place.

His master grabbed a hold of his arm and walked him off, forcefully pulling him down the stairs while he kept repeating excuses over his shoulder to the still confused lord left standing outside the restroom. “I’m so sorry, Jan,” he shouted behind him. “I don’t know what on earth got into him… I… Excuse me, I’ll just… Please don’t leave! I’ll be back in a minute, all right?”

The man stopped at the foot of the stairs and jerked hard on his arm to make him kneel. Taven sank to the floor without protests; his knees were like jelly anyway. His master towered over him on drunken unsteady legs, fury in his eyes. “You… You will not move an inch until I come back for you, is that clear?” he ordered. “Do _not_ move or I’ll…” 

Taven couldn’t get a word out, but his master wasn’t waiting for an answer in any case. He left him to dash back up the stairs.

He stared at the floor where he knelt. Oh, he had done it this time. His master had warned him about making trouble, and Taven had promised he would never behave badly on purpose. He had just showed his owner he couldn’t be trusted for shits. If he weren’t so numb with the thought of how his life was pretty much over, he would have cried. 

Only a minute or so later his master came down the stairs again, halting in front of him. Taven didn’t dare look up. 

“Well,” his master said; a strangely calm tone to his voice, which did little to ease his fears. “I suppose this is a good time to leave. Come on, get up, we’re going home!”

\-----o0o-----

The silence was pressing as they retrieved their jackets and rode the elevator down to the parking garage . Taven didn’t know what his master was thinking, and what would happen to him, but no matter how bad it felt not knowing, it didn’t seem like a good time to open his mouth to ask.

There was no chauffeur in sight when they neared the car. His master frowned at the apparent absence and took a fist to the hood. Taven flinched at the sudden violence, but the head of the worker slave only had to pop up in the driver’s seat at the clanging noise, and his master looked pleased again. It seemed the driver had slumped down in the seat and was sleeping too hard to hear them approach. 

The worker scrambled out of the car as quickly as he could in his drowsy state, offering excuses and deep bows as he opened the back door for them. It seemed the chauffeur’s offence wasn’t nearly as serious as Taven’s, though. His master only grinned at the slave’s plea for forgiveness and shushed him with a generous wave of his hand. 

As the car drove out into the night streets Taven fought his tears. It started to sink in just how bad this was. How could he have been so stupid? Why had he ruined his only chance at a decent life only because some bastard had felt him up and tried to kiss him? He wanted to bash his head against something hard, to punish himself. Why the hell had he reacted so strongly to so little. Hadn’t he been through much worse?

The more he thought about it, the surer he got his master would throw him out for this. His owner had been weirdly patient with his flaws, so far, but maybe it wasn’t so strange. The man was spending money on him after all. He would want to make sure he could use his slave for at least something, before he gave up and cut his losses. It must be clear by now he really wasn’t good for anything at all. 

Taven thought of the room he’d grown used to calling his own and its comfortable bed and wonderful bathroom. Would the man allow him to stay at least for tonight, or would he see to it he was sent away as soon as they got back? 

The lump in his throat just kept growing. 

A strange choked sound beside him pulled him out of his dark thoughts and he carefully turned his head to look up at his master. The man looked back at him, and it seemed it was all it took to make him completely lose it. 

His owner threw his head back and burst out laughing uncontrollably.

Taven stared. His master was laughing so hard he was doubling over, clutching at his stomach and drying at his eyes. He almost hollered with laughter, and his shoulders shook with uninhibited mirth. “Oh, God!” the man croaked. “Did you see Jan’s face? Oh, my God, the look on his face… That's just the most hilarious thing I’ve seen in my life. I can’t believe you said those things. Jesus, I’m going to cramp., the _look_ on Jan’s face…”

The man kept chuckling at the images in his head more or less the entire way home, while Taven remained in stunned silence beside him.

His owner really was the weirdest fucking guy _ever_.


	22. Masters, They Are All the Same

His master swayed and leaned against the car as he got out, showing just how drunk he still was. “Oh my,” he said, taking deep breaths of the chilly night air. “I might be just the tiniest bit tipsy… What on earth was in those drinks? I only had two or three.” 

Taven raised his eyebrows, getting out right behind his master. Two or three? What the fuck. He’d had six.

The driver took a tentative step toward their master, but he waved the slave away with an irritated gesture and threw his arm around Taven’s shoulders instead. “I think you’d better walk me up to my rooms tonight, or I might fall in the stairs and break my neck.” The man hung on him heavily and giggled.

They walked inside the mansion like that, and were met by a maid who couldn’t hide her worried expression at the master’s unsteady gait, but neither said a word, nor offered assistance. She only closed and locked the large doors behind them, and quickly disappeared through a side door. 

Taven had never entered the building through the main entry before, but he was too busy supporting his master to study the enormous foyer closer, or its impressive ceiling paintings and wide flight of stairs. They slowly made their way up. 

He had never been in the master’s own private bedroom before either, but, again, didn’t take the time to look about. He was still wary about the whole situation and rather kept an eye on the man at his side than studied his surroundings. His master let go of him and threw himself backwards onto a large bed, still giggling and chuckling at… something, Taven had no fucking idea. 

Could it be possible his master wasn’t angry with what he’d done? Had he really just laughed the whole thing off, or, was it only that he was so fucking drunk? In that case, it seemed his master _wasn’t_ one of those people who turned into a monster when they were drinking. Taven stared at the grinning man on the bed. It seemed he turned into some kind of giggling idiot instead. Still, this was much preferable to any alternative. Taven wasn’t going to complain, even if he had no idea what to make of the man’s behavior. 

His master sat up on the bed and stretched a leg out to him. “Help me with my shoes, Taven, will you? I’ll probably fall over if I take them off myself.”

Taven went to his knees at the order and started to unlace the man’s shoes. It wasn’t long until he felt his master’s hand on his head, caressing his hair. Taven didn’t know what to make of the light touch either. He’d taken the shoes off, but his master didn’t seem to notice. The soft hand drifted from his hair to caress his cheek, and finally it cupped his chin and tilted his head up. 

“Thanks for the help,” his master said. “I should be all right now. You can go to bed.”

“Yes, Master,” Taven said, quickly getting to his feet. It seemed his master really wasn’t angry, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay and push his luck if the man gave him an out. 

Maybe his luck was already over. He only had to turn and there was a hand on his arm, stopping him. Taven froze. 

His master turned him back around. “Aren’t you going to say a proper good night to your master?” he said. 

“Uh… I- I…” Taven stammered in sheer confusion. His master had never taught him anything about this. “Uh… Good- goodnight, Master,” he tried, hoping it was as simple as that. 

It couldn’t have been terribly wrong. His master was smiling. The man pulled him closer and put his lips to his ear. “Goodnight, Taven,” he said softly. A hot breath tickled Taven’s earlobe and neck, and slowly, slowly, those same lips brushed against his cheek, and then they pressed against his mouth.

Again, Taven froze. 

He’d known it. He’d fucking known it. The man was drunk and horny and wanted to use him, just like every other fucking drunk and horny bastard ever. Whatever his master had said about not having bought him for sex was just complete and utter bullshit, and if Taven had ever thought differently he was a fucking idiot.

At first, all he could feel was anger, fear and hurt, but… It didn’t last. Somehow, it just didn’t last, and he found himself considering it. This was different, Taven thought. It was a hell of a lot different. 

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ his master to fuck him. He’d never wanted any of that shit. Taven had always hated how they used him, but most of the times – when he hadn’t panicked and fought it – he’d often tried to appease and please them. He’d been so tired, and in so much pain, he’d done anything to please, hoping he wouldn’t be hit again, hoping they wouldn’t treat him so harshly, hoping they would sooner leave him be. 

However, he’d been a ‘good boy’ to avoid things more horrible than being fucked, never in an attempt to get attention, to be liked, or to gain favors. In Swift’s world, there had never been any favors to gain. It hadn’t mattered how well he behaved, Swift would have never said a kind word, or handed out any kind of rewards. Taven was to obey, or there would be a world of pain and horror, and that was it. 

It struck him his current owner wasn’t anything like Swift, and maybe he’d always known this, in an instinctive sort of way. Taven realized he had already used sex to try to get the man’s attention, offering himself in the gardens, though he hadn’t understood it at the time. It couldn’t hurt him to be nice this way again, Taven thought, and might even do him a lot of good. Especially since he’d just proved what a fucking disaster he was as an attendant. 

Of course, his master had coldly rejected his attempts back then, but now the man had himself started it. Clearly, this time, his master did want sex, and no matter _how_ he wanted it; Taven was going to be a very good boy.

He had to admit though, so far, it wasn’t that bad. His master didn’t handle him harshly, didn’t push him against a wall, or wrenched him down on the bed. He only gently caressed his arm and nuzzled at his mouth with soft lips. It was so distinctly different from the other lord’s demanding tongue, Taven didn’t know how to respond. Finally, he passively opened his mouth and let his master kiss him in earnest, and though he tasted of alcohol, Taven didn’t feel especially uneasy about the whole thing… until the man gently started to tug at his shirt. 

Taven tensed up, and even intoxicated his master seemed to notice. The man stopped kissing him and fumbling with his buttons. He stepped back, looking at him with a serious expression. “Oh, you… You don’t want this?” he said.

He looked back in confusion. He didn’t understand what the man meant. He had decided to be good. Wasn’t he being good? “I… I’m gonna be good, Master,” he said.

The man swayed a little, frowning, but then it was like whatever concerns he’d had, he brushed them aside. His master resumed both the kissing and the attempt to loosen his buttons. 

This time Taven simply had to step away and out of the man’s hands, or he _would_ panic again. He grabbed his shirt by the collar. It wasn’t that he wasn’t going to obey, he was, but if his master took his clothes off, just like that, with the lights still on, this whole thing would so go to hell. Against all hope, he tried to reason with his horny owner.

“Master, I- I look so fucking bad,” he said. “Don’t take my shirt off! You’re gonna get all disgusted again, and- and… You can switch the lights off first, or something.”

“No, no, no.” His master seemed upset. “I’m not… My goodness, Taven, I’ve told you, I’m not disgusted. I don’t care about your scars… I mean, I care, but not for this, not in this situation.” 

Taven was no less confused. 

His master sighed deeply, looking worried. “All right,” he said. “I understand. I suppose I would have been uncomfortable, as well.” The man seemed to think it over and soon brightened up again. “How about,” he said, “if I took my clothes off first. Would it make things easier?”

What? Taven had no idea what to say to that, but his master didn’t seem to require a reply. He’d already started to strip. Taven watched, mouth gaping, how his master clumsily shed himself of suit and shirt, underwear and socks. Before he knew it, the man stood naked in front of him, hard cock and all.

Taven couldn’t help staring. His master was not bad looking. The man was all lean muscles, smooth chest and flat stomach. He’d never really taken in just how young and handsome his owner was. It fucking made him feel worse than ever. 

“There,” his master grinned. “Now it’s your turn!” 

Taven blushed fiercely from pure shame and looked down at his feet, near tears with embarrassment. As if he wouldn’t look even more horrible now, in comparison. 

“Oh,” his master said. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.” He started to pace in front of him. “Um, it wasn’t really meant as an order. You certainly don’t have to take your clothes off, if you don’t want to, that is, and… Uh, I think I need to go to the… We’ll talk more in a minute.”

The man strode past him without another word and disappeared into what was obviously his bathroom. 

Taven squirmed where he stood. He was being an idiot, and he sure as hell wasn’t being good, like he’d told himself he would be. If he were, then his master wouldn’t be so fucking displeased with him right now he’d simply walked off, hard cock bouncing. What the fuck was he arguing and making trouble for? His master had clearly wanted him to get naked and he was obviously too drunk and horny at the moment to care what the hell he looked like. The man just wanted a hole for the night, that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? 

He should get on the bed and show his owner just how nice and useful he could be. He knew what to do. Taven determinedly took off his clothes, added them to the pile on the floor, and climbed onto the bed, legs shaking. 

Taven couldn’t help he was scared of what was to come. He hadn’t been fucked since the slave market, where one of the guards had dragged him by his chained hands into a cleaning cupboard behind the trader’s back. That shithead had fucked him so damn hard he’d bled, telling him he wasn’t sellable anyway. It wasn’t exactly the first time someone had shredded his asshole, but it was just as fucking awful, every time. 

Finally getting to bathe and shower in warm water, after he’d been taken to the mansion, had helped some, but his damn asshole had still itched and stung. It still wasn't fully healed, but the cream his master had gotten him was working well. It didn’t hurt anymore, except when he was on the toilet sometimes. 

Taven didn’t look forward to possibly getting those tears reopened, but he shook the worry. He wasn’t a damn coward. It was something he was used to, after all, pain and everything. It wasn’t a big deal, right, and there was more of that cream. 

He twisted his hair into a tail and pulled it over his shoulder to get it out of the way, then he bent over to put a cheek to the soft bedcovers, parted his legs, and raised his ass in the air. 

He was going to ignore that damn stupid knot of fear in his stomach and present himself in a submissive and inviting manner, as best as he knew how to.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel threw a robe on and washed his face in cold water to try to clear his mind. He wasn’t running from the awkward situation, he told himself, drying his face with a soft towel, not at all. He’d only needed a few minutes, to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong in his alcohol-addled brain to do something so stupid to the poor boy.

It wasn’t that Nickel didn’t realize what a bad idea it was to come on to the slave so strongly, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He had just wanted to kiss that adorable face for such a long time. There could have been a bad reaction, but Nickel had been lucky. Taven had been a little wary at first, yes, but then he’d seemed to relax and respond to his kiss. Yes, Nickel thought, in spite of everything it had been going well, and his heart had thumped in his chest in excitement. 

Then he’d ruined it all by rushing things beyond what the boy could handle. Why had he been in such a damn hurry to get them both out of their clothes? 

He looked down at his naked frame, and his still half-hard cock, through the open robe, and hurriedly closed it properly. No wonder Taven had been so apprehensive. Nickel frowned at himself in the mirror. He hoped he hadn’t scared the boy off it for good, and he should stay off the booze if he couldn’t control himself better after only a drink or two. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes to his own reflection. Maybe, if he saw to it he ‘got laid’ a bit more often, he wouldn’t be so desperate for the smallest amount of intimacy.

Whatever Nickel had planned to say when he returned to his bedroom it completely vanished at the sight that met him, along with the rest of his erection. Finding Taven naked on his bed in such a position was the last he’d expected. It was quite the sobering reminder this _wasn’t_ a date he’d invited home, or someone he’d picked up at a bar for a one-night stand.

Nickel did his best to get a grip of himself as he walked over to the bed. He sat down beside the boy and put a light hand on his back. “Taven, dear… what are you doing?” he asked. The pale, scarred and marked body submitting to him so completely filled him with sadness. 

Taven knelt up on the bed and turned to him, looking confused. “Uh, weren’t you gonna fuck me, Master?” he said.

Nickel frowned. He’d been about to explain how he’d never meant for them to actually have penetrative sex tonight. It was too soon. Even in his most drunken state Nickel had thought it was, and not only because he wasn’t sure if Taven was completely cured, or if he’d fully healed anally. He had only wanted to be close, to touch, to… Oh, he wasn’t even sure what it was that he wanted, but it wasn’t_ this_. 

He understood very well if _he_ weren’t clear on what was going on, then of course the slave would be completely confused. It wasn’t Taven’s fault he wasn’t capable of reading his master’s mind, and still, Nickel couldn’t help his annoyance at the boy’s words.

“No,” he blurted out. “I don’t want to ‘fuck’. I don’t want to _fuck_ you.” The slave made it sound so sordid, so wrong; so tasteless. Taven posing on his bed, and his ‘matter of fact words’ about what he’d thought would happen painted a picture of his master that Nickel wasn’t at all prepared to embrace. Nickel didn’t just ‘fuck’. Not like this.

Taven flinched at his words. His face turned red in an instant and his eyes filled up with tears. 

Nickel could have kicked himself. Too late, it dawned on him how Taven must interpret his badly chosen words. He reached for the boy but Taven avoided his hand, practically threw himself off the bed and started to rummage through the pile of clothing on the floor with rushed and clumsy movements. He pressed his clothes to his chest as he picked them up, shaking and gulping, as if he tried hard not to start to cry. 

He got off the bed, as well, and grabbed a hold of Taven’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out. It’s not what you think, not at all. I would like to be with you. I just didn’t care for the way you spoke of it, or the way you obviously thought I would… It’s not how I want things. I’d like us _both_ to enjoy it, and… Oh, do you at all understand what I’m talking about?”

Taven simply shook his head. There was an expression of both shame and anger on his still reddened face. “Can I go to bed now, Master?” he asked, avoiding his eyes.

Nickel sighed and let go of the boy’s arm. “If that's what you… Of course you may.”

Taven fled the second this confirmation passed Nickel’s lips. He ran out of the room, the long hair fluttering behind him in the sudden escape. 

Nickel sat down heavily on the bed. To say he’d handled this badly would be an understatement, and he could probably not blame it on the alcohol he’d consumed, not entirely. He shouldn’t have let Taven go, he should have tried to explain better; he should have made him understand how…

A hesitant knock interrupted his regretful thoughts. “Yes?” he said.

His bedroom door slowly opened, and there Taven was again, standing on the threshold, stubbornly looking down with the bundle of clothes still pressed to his chest. His hair spilled over his shoulders and draped around his hips. 

Nickel almost lost his breath at the sight. 

“I… I can’t find my fucking room from here,” the boy said, frustrated anger in his whole demeanor.

Nickel couldn’t help the smile. 

“Come inside again, Taven,” he said. “I’ll show you the way, but let’s talk first.”

Taven reluctantly obeyed and walked into the room, not once looking up at him, halting a few steps before him where he sat. Nickel wanted to make the boy sit down beside him, but Taven was probably still too angry and hurt to accept such closeness. He allowed the boy the distance.

“I wasn’t rejecting you,” he explained, “and it’s not at all because of how you look. There’s nothing wrong with you, Taven. You look fine to me. It’s only, I realized… Ah, damn, I made you uncomfortable, confused you, scared you… I never meant to go as far as to penetrate you tonight, not when you might not be fully healed, and not before we know each other better. Also, ‘fucking’ is a word I really dislike, and not only as a swearword. I don’t ‘fuck’ anyone. I _make love_. Believe me, it wasn’t a rejection, it was only a drunken man’s clumsy attempt to express a concern we were moving too fast.”

Taven gave him a fleeting glance only, with a suspicious eye. “You- you’re not disgusted?”

“No!” Nickel answered, shaking his head for emphasis. “I’m not. Never! Right now, I’d want nothing else than for you to stay here tonight, but not for sex, not for ‘fucking’, but only to feel you close to me, and to look at you. Do you think I’d want that if I was in any way disgusted?”

Taven looked in all directions but his. 

“I won’t order you to stay,” Nickel said, “but I’d like it if you did. Would you?” 

Finally, the boy looked at him. “Okay, Master,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

Nickel smiled.


	23. Morning after Regrets

His past made Taven a light sleeper. Something woke him up, a voice outside the door, his master turning beside him, or maybe it was only the myriad of weird snapping and creaking noises this spooky old house constantly made. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, but some time during the night it seemed he’d still succumbed to weariness. It was all right though, nothing had happened. 

Taven yawned and stretched while he turned to look at the other person in the bed. His master was sleeping soundly and would probably not notice if he put his clothes back on and sneaked out. However, he had still no idea where his room was and didn’t want to risk running into people while he tried to find his way, much less having to ask someone. He knew what they would think, him coming out of his master’s bedroom with his hair all in a mess. They’d think the little whore had been thoroughly and properly fucked, and they would look at him with contempt, or grin knowingly. 

He hated that. 

The weirdest thing about this whole night, though, was that they for once would be wrong. Taven _hadn’t_ been fucked, properly or no. 

Of course, the man only had to lie down, and he’d fallen asleep – thank goodness for masters who couldn’t hold their liquor – but Taven thought this wasn’t the reason he hadn’t been used.

What the actual reason was though; he had no fucking idea. Taven sighed and turned back, looking up into a weird ‘extra ceiling’ over the bed that seemed to be made of some dusty old fabric. As usual, his master’s behavior and words was a rich source of total and utter confusion. The only thing that had even remotely made sense to him was that his master had said he didn’t want to fuck him until he was healthier. Yeah, that did make sense, didn’t it? 

First, Taven had thought it was only that the man had simply changed his mind when he was reminded of how awful his new slave looked in the nude, and how washed up he was. He thought back on his master’s poisonous words to that tall good-looking slave at the party the night before and he shuddered. How could his master’s rejection have been about anything else? It had made him feel like fucking shit, but it had at least made sense. Then, the man had claimed he wasn’t disgusted at all, and had asked him to stay. 

_Asked_, not ordered. 

Taven wasn’t sure why he’d agreed when the man had clearly given him the option to leave. He sighed again, realizing he didn’t trust that kind of ‘choice’. No matter how his master had put it, of course there had been no real choice. In the light of everything else happening the night before, Taven had felt he couldn’t afford to give his master the ‘wrong’ answer. 

He regretted it now. Even if the man would have gotten angry with him if he’d turned him down and left, at least Taven would have been spared the inevitable shitty ‘waking up moment’ that was sure to come any moment now. 

At Swift’s place there had only been one bed and he hadn’t let Taven up in it if it wasn’t to work. The men who came to use him hadn’t usually slept there either; they had only finished up and left. On a few occasions, though, some men had paid Swift to get to stay through the night and had wanted him to remain until the morning. The first time that had happened Taven had welcomed the chance to stay off the hard bathroom floor, where he usually slept, but he’d soon come to hate it more than the cold tiles. 

Most men were no less of a shithead in the morning, Taven thought. 

Some assholes had been angry when they found him still there, as if they didn’t even remember ordering him to stay, and had kicked him out of the bed. Quite a few had yelled at him and blamed him for tempting them, telling him it was his fault they had went behind their wives’ back to drink and do drugs and fuck small boys, or accused him of having ‘seduced’ them into wasting their money. 

Most had only rolled over him, heavy and sweaty with foul breaths, and had demanded he take care of their ‘morning stiffy’. 

None of those had been the worst. The worst were those who hadn’t said a word, but only looked at him coldly in utter disgust, like there was nothing else they regretted more in their entire lives than having touched him. They were usually the ones who had sweet-talked him the most, too, a few hours earlier, when they had pushed inside him, or forced their cocks down his throat. 

Taven turned his head again and watched his sleeping master with an ever-growing lump in the pit of his stomach, and his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. He didn’t want to know which kind his owner was. Taven thought he couldn’t stand to know. He should leave, while there was still time to… 

Too late. His master’s eyelids started to flutter, he moaned and yawned, blinked, looked straight at him, and… smiled.

“Hey there! Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

Taven didn’t answer, stunned at the warm expression that met him and the kind words. 

His master reached a hand out to stroke the hair out of his face. “Oh my,” he said. “We should probably have braided this, before we went to sleep.”

Taven pulled away from his master’s hand and tried to gather the long tangled strands. Fuck, he must look like all hell, and it would take ages to comb out this shit now. “I’ll go fix it, Master,” he said, making a move to leave the bed.

His master gently stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “Never mind, you can do it later. We don’t have to be anywhere this morning, let’s sleep in. I might have had a drink or two too many yesterday. I don’t feel very well. Let’s go back to sleep.” The man shuffled closer and put an arm around his waist, closing his eyes again.

Taven lay stiff as a plank with the man’s arm around him, listening to the even breathing as his master fell asleep once more. _He_ sure as hell wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he thought, not when everything was just so fucking weird. 

It wasn’t weird in a bad way, though, was it? No, Taven couldn’t say it was. The bed was insanely comfortable, the room warm and the mass of pillows so soft. The arm across his body was light and relaxed, not demanding at all. Eventually he allowed himself to relax as well, and soon started to drift in and out of a light half-slumber.

Taven didn’t know for how long they stayed like this, but suddenly the arm was pulled away and his master sat up at the bedside. The man just stayed there for a moment, scratching the back of his head, trying to smooth down his own short and dark tresses, messy from sleep. 

He held his breath. Somehow, his master seemed different waking up this time. Without a word, the man reached for his robe on the floor, put it on, walked over to the door and opened it to call out loudly for someone named ‘Eve’. 

Taven heard him telling this someone not to come make the bed until later and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. His master closed the door without waiting for an answer and strode past the bed, again without a word, not looking at him, disappearing into his bathroom. 

This wasn’t at all the same man who had smiled at him only a little while earlier, wishing him a good morning, and asking how he’d slept. Taven swallowed hard. _This_ would be the time to leave. The other slaves had probably unlocked the main entry by now. He could go out the same way he came in last night, walk around the house and enter again through the kitchens. He did know the way to his room from there. 

In the end, he simply remained in the bed, not moving or reaching for his clothes. It wouldn’t matter if he left, if something was wrong, there was no place he could hide anyway.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel stared at himself in the bathroom mirror wondering if the man he saw really could be the same as the one from last night. Now, with sobriety of the morning after, memories of the night before came rushing back to him, in full clarity, and he moaned.

The night at The Club had ended with a virtual disaster and what had he done. He had laughed it off. What on earth had he been thinking, simply brushing aside such a serious matter? Yes, he’d been drunk – he had a ‘dry sock’ in his mouth this morning and a pounding head to show for it – and yes, he’d been caught up in his attraction to the boy out there in his bed, but those were both bad excuses. 

He groaned as he remembered the scene outside the restroom. What had possessed the boy to do something like that? Not since the slave market had Taven acted so badly. Nickel just didn’t understand what could have happened in the few minutes he’d left him alone to warrant such an outbreak. 

Nickel found some headache pills in the cabinet over the sink and gulped down two of them with a big glass of water, trying to quench his hung over thirst in the process. He angrily squeezed the plastic jar in his fist, wanting to stomp back out into his bedroom and give the little idiot in there a good verbal thrashing. Didn’t he know what something like this could lead to? 

He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. What would it help if he yelled at Taven now when he’d already made the slave think there was no problem with that amazingly inappropriate reaction in the car? Had he really been that drunk? Jan’s shocked expression at the crude insults sure didn’t seem the least bit funny to him today.

Nickel sighed deeply and closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. He would calmly talk to Taven first, and then he would call Jan. He’d tried to talk to the other lord the night before, of course, but Jan had only murmured something unintelligible and had fled into the restroom. Nickel had given up and taken Taven home. He must talk to Jan again, now when they were both sober. 

He didn’t think Jan would alert the authorities. Lord Steinbock was usually a rather amiable and jovial character, and not known to be cruel to slaves. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember much of what had been going on anyway. As far as Nickel could recall, the other lord had seemed to be considerably more inebriated. It was Jan’s confused and bewildered look he’d found so funny, after all. 

If he could only appease Jan, things would surely be all right, and if he was lucky no one else had witnessed the debacle, and no one in the main hall had heard Taven’s screams of anger outside. Nickel thought hard about it, but couldn’t remember seeing anyone else about.

With this in mind, he determinedly walked back and sat down at the bedside where Taven was still lying, covers drawn up to his chin. The boy understood something was wrong, Nickel thought, eyeing his master warily, his hands clutching the edge of the covers in a whitening grip. 

“Taven,” he started. “You must understand, when I… Well, when I… I was wrong. In the car, when I laughed at what you did, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that, and if I had been the least bit sober, I most certainly wouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have made you think what you did isn’t serious, because, well, it _is_. It’s very serious.”

The slave only stared at him. Surely, Taven knew what he was talking about. “I don’t understand what on earth got into you, boy,” he said, trying to control the anger that threatened under the surface. “At the slave market, I understand; you were scared, you panicked, but last night… Why would you act in such a way? I don’t understand you.”

Taven still didn’t say a word, and in spite of Nickel’s best intentions anger took over. “Have you _any_ idea how that made me look,” he yelled, shaking his fist in Taven’s face. “People will think I can’t even control my own slave, and- and… How could you disappoint me like this? Well? Have you _nothing_ to say for yourself?” 

The boy sat up straight in the bed and let the covers drop to his waist. “But… But- but, I didn’t fucking start it, Master,” he yelled back in desperation. “_He_ started it. That guy, he- he wanted to, like, fuck me or something.”

“Say what?” Nickel couldn’t believe what he heard. 

“I swear,” Taven yelled. “He groped me between my legs, and tried to kiss me, and pushed me against the wall, and wouldn’t let me go, and- and…” 

“But… Jan isn’t interested in men,” Nickel argued, knowing Jan’s reputation as a womanizer. At least he’d never heard anything to the contrary. Jan was a bachelor, somewhat of an aging playboy, and quite proud of this reputation. 

“Yeah? Well, I look like a fucking girl, don’t I?” Taven shouted.

“You don’t look like a girl,” Nickel said mildly, his anger draining away. He didn’t think the boy was particularly girly at all. Though he supposed it was plausible Taven’s slight build and long hair would fool a man who was drunk enough. “Are you telling me the truth?” he asked, suspicious still.

“Yes!” Taven yelled, looking ever more desperate his master would believe him. “I ain’t lying, I swear, and- and… I thought he wasn’t, you know, allowed; that you hadn’t told him he could, and- and… If you told him he could, how the hell should I have known? I would’ve shut the fuck up and stayed still for it, if you’d ordered me to, Master, I swear, but I didn’t fucking know.”

Nickel was taken aback “What? How could you think I would ever…?” He shook his head, saddened at the notion. “Now, you listen to me carefully! I would never allow anyone to do such things to you. If someone touches you in this way again, never doubt they’re doing so without my permission.” 

For a moment, Taven looked at him in utter astonishment, but then he seemed to think this line of defense must be even better than he’d originally thought. “He was fucking all over me,” he quickly resumed. “And he said I had to do stuff, Master, and he wouldn’t let me go, and- and… You gotta believe me!” 

Nickel interrupted him with a raised hand. “I believe you, Taven. It’s not that I don’t believe it happened, and I understand you, I do, but… You can’t act out like this, slave, you simply can’t! You’re not allowed to protect yourself. If you try to, it can only end in disaster; don’t you understand? You have to leave it to _me_ to protect you.”

Taven looked both angry and incredulous now. “You- you weren’t there,” he said.

“But I was,” Nickel protested. “I was just on the other side of the door. If you had called out for me, I would have heard you. I would have been there in a heartbeat.”

Taven looked away from him and clamped his mouth shut. The boy didn’t believe him, Nickel thought, and no wonder. The way his former masters had treated him, why would he trust _this_ master to protect him? It made Nickel so sad to realize that even when Taven correctly had believed Jan was touching him without permission, and even though his master had been well within shouting distance, it apparently had never crossed Taven’s mind to call out for help. 

Understanding this, Nickel only wanted to take the boy in his arms. He wanted to comfort him and tell him everything was all right. That, now that he knew, he wasn’t angry with him, but he had to steel himself. This was much too serious for him to brush it aside again. 

“Believe me, Taven,” he said. “I’ll protect you, and I would never allow anyone to touch you. Jan did wrong, but it doesn’t change what _you_ did. You _cannot_ speak to free people like this. I will have to punish you.”

Taven still didn’t look at him. “I didn’t start it,” he repeated, mumbling bitterly under his hanging hair.

“I know,” Nickel replied patiently. “But it doesn’t matter, don’t you understand? People will not care. I do, but people won’t.” He rose from the bed, and picked up Taven’s shirt and pants from the floor, putting it in the boy’s lap. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “I’ll take you back to your room. I have to think over what I should do about this.”


	24. A Matter of Punishment

Nickel left Taven in his room and walked over to the study. He would call Jan right away. If the damn Steinbock lord really had touched his property without permission he would make sure to use this fact to his advantage, just in case Jan would want to make a big affair of the whole thing, after all. 

There was a risk it wouldn’t help. Nickel remembered everything now, and if he was right, then things were worse than he’d first thought. He hoped and prayed Jan hadn’t realized this, as well. 

Nickel wasn’t a heavy drinker, though neither was he a total abstainer. His usual health regiment didn’t allow for things like, sweets, junk food, or tobacco – which he found disgusting – neither would he ever touch any kind of illegal drugs. However, he did allow himself a drink or two, on occasion, in social contexts. Problem was, these occasions were usually rather few and far between, and in consequence, unless he was careful, he didn’t hold his liquor well. 

The alcohol he’d had last night had soon got to his head. Having left Taven outside the restroom, and having finished his business in the stall, he’d started to feel woozy. For a moment, he’d thought he would get sick, and he’d sat down heavily on the toilet seat, fighting this sudden surge of nausea, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. 

Maybe he’d been in there a bit long, at least he’d given Jan plenty of time to feel Taven up. In any case, a loud crash on the other side of the door had startled him out of it. He’d dashed outside to see what was going on. To his utter surprise he’d found Taven yelling obscenities at a stunned Jan, totally out of control, but it had been even worse, hadn’t it. 

What had caused the crash he'd heard? A broken flowerpot, yes, he remembered now seeing it, but how had it ended up in the middle of the floor? It couldn’t simply have been knocked over while Jan was trying to have his way with Taven; it had landed too far away from the window. 

There was only one explanation, Nickel thought. Taven had thrown the pot. 

What had the boy tried to do, hit Jan with it? Nickel would never have thought of suspecting such a thing, if it wasn’t for the fact Taven had done something similar once before. On the day he’d brought Taven here, he’d tried to hit his new master in the back. The boy had pathetically failed, and Nickel had brushed the incident aside, not telling anyone, eventually forgetting all about it. He’d been convinced it wouldn’t happen again. 

Had it happened again? Nickel couldn’t tell. He hadn’t witnessed the actual course of events. If Taven really had tried to attack Jan with a flowerpot, and if that’s how Jan had perceived it as well, then Taven was doomed. 

Nickel’s hands shook while he sat down behind the desk, picked up his phone and looked up Jan’s number.

\-----o0o-----

Not until late in the afternoon did Nickel take the backstairs down to Taven’s room.

The conversation with Jan Steinbock earlier in the morning had turned out better than he could have ever hoped for. If Nickel had still had a lingering suspicion that Taven had lied to him about the whole thing then Jan had immediately dispersed his doubts. Jan had been noticeably embarrassed answering his phone, realizing who had called him. He’d hawked and hemmed, telling Nickel he’d just been about to call himself, to apologize. 

Jan had at once admitted his drunken faux pas, and it had been hard to tell what he was most mortified about, having made use of another free person’s property in such a fashion without asking, or the fact that he, the incurable skirt chaser, had mistaken a male slave for a girl. He’d specifically asked Nickel please not to mention this particular fact to anyone.

In the end, Jan had been satisfied with a promise of an apology from the slave, if they could agree on forgetting the whole episode, not telling anyone, and put it behind them. 

Nickel had been immensely relieved as he’d turned off the phone. Jan hadn’t said a word about Taven trying to attack him in any way. He was convinced that if Jan had even noticed the broken flowerpot, he hadn’t realized what it might imply, or there was no way he wouldn’t have mentioned it. 

He reached Taven’s door, gave it a short rap and stepped inside; still not having decided if he should bring up the pot with the slave. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Taven was sitting in the corner of the bed, hugging his knees close, giving him a wide-eyed and startled expression as he walked in. The boy dragged himself off the bed to stand before his master, nervously shifting feet and hanging his head. 

He looked miserable.

Nickel felt bad. He had thought Taven could do with some time alone; to think over what he’d done, and had deliberately left him to himself for the whole day. Now he thought Taven might have spent the time dreading what was to come instead. However, again, Nickel steeled himself. 

Taven could have gotten himself killed with his stupid behavior, and the slave was lucky the circumstances had allowed him to go free. This time. Anger soon replaced Nickel’s relief after the conversation with Jan. He had to hold on to that anger, he reminded himself, and not let the boy get away with this. Granted, he still wasn’t sure what he should actually do to Taven, but he wanted to let him know he hadn’t forgotten, and that he would do _something_.

“Well,” he started, making sure to sound authoritarian and strict. “There was the matter of a punishment.” 

Taven’s hands fisted at his sides, and he looked up at him in tight-lipped defiance, hurt and anger in his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Ain’t like I’m not fucking used to it.” Unexpectedly, Taven turned away from him with these words, and strode into his bathroom, returning only a few seconds later with something that he pressed into Nickel’s hands.

Nickel looked down at a white terry sash that obviously came from Taven’s oversized bathrobe. “Uh, what am I supposed to…?”

Taven interrupted him by simply sinking down to his knees at his feet, bowing his head and raising his hands up to him, wrists crossed. “You gonna flog me, Master,” he said bitterly, “you gotta tie me up! I ain’t gonna stay still for it. It fucking hurts, you know.”

Nickel was taken aback. “Jesus, Taven… I’m not going to flog you,” he said, throwing the sash onto the bed.

Taven let his hands sink and looked up at him with an expression containing equal amounts of surprise and relief. “You’re not?” 

Nickel shook his head. “I am most certainly _not_ going to flog you,” he repeated, not wanting there to be any misunderstandings.

“But- but… You’re not gonna sell me, are you? Right?” Taven asked, worry in his whole demeanor.

Nickel shook his head once again. “Of course not,” he assured him.

There was no mistaking the relief on the boy’s face this time. Taven sprang to his feet and, again, turned away from him. To Nickel’s surprise, he quickly opened his pants and pulled them down to his ankles, following this move up by simply laying himself face down across the bed. “I’m gonna stay real still for a spanking then, Master, I promise,” he said, grabbing at the covers with both of his hands as if to prepare for the coming pain.

Nickel stared at the bared and scarred buttocks, slightly queasy, but then he got angry instead. “Stop assuming what I’m about to do,” he said. “Get up and put your pants back on! Right this instance!”

Taven obeyed, fumbling with the fly of his pants, red in the face. “But- but what the fuck are you gonna do then, Master,” he murmured. “I don’t fucking get it, I…” The boy abruptly cut himself short and looked like the most awful realization came over him. He went from red to pale in an instant, throwing himself to his knees and grabbing at Nickel’s legs. 

“Please, Master,” he yelled, pressing his face into his thighs and clawing desperately at the fabric. “Not that… Please don’t put me someplace dark. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be good, and do anything you want. Don’t put me in a hole, please! I’ll never be bad again, I swear. Why can’t you just fucking beat me? Please, Master.”

Nickel was stunned at the reaction. Awkwardly he tried to make Taven loosen the frantic grip of his pants. “Calm down, Taven! I’m not going to…” 

Taven wasn’t listening. He seemed to completely fall apart and slumped down on the floor at his feet. “Please, Master, they’re gonna bite me, they’re gonna bite me everywhere,” he wept loudly. “_Please_, not the hole!”

Nickel crouched down beside him and put a comforting hand on his back. At least when Taven had broken down crying in the car after the doctor’s visit, Nickel had understood why. This, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he said, trying to get through to the boy. “What hole? I would never throw you in a hole, boy. Do you hear me? I would never do that, I promise.”

He kept murmuring soothing words, when, completely unexpectedly; Taven sat up and threw his arms around his neck. He sobbed into his ear like a small child and clung to him frantically. Nickel snapped out of his shock and hugged Taven back, holding him close. “It’s all right, boy,” he said, stroking his back in comfort. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. What happened? Who put you in a hole? What was biting you?”

Taven could hardly get a word out from the sobs that racked him. “I don’t know,” he finally managed, weeping against his neck. “I don’t know what the fuck it was. It was just totally black; I couldn’t see a fucking thing. It was something furry, and they ran all over me and bit my legs and my feet, and- and… Swift chained me up and he- he cuffed my hands behind my back. I couldn’t do a fucking thing, and they tried to eat me, Master, they _ate_ on me.” 

Nickel hugged the boy closer as he spoke, appalled at what he heard. 

“I told him,” Taven sobbed. “I told him it was full of them down there, but he just fucking laughed and kicked me down the hole, and- and…”

There was a chill up Nickel’s back. “Where, Taven? I don’t understand. Where did he put you?”

“In a hole,” Taven wept. “Down below, in the basement. _Under_ the basement, I don’t fucking know. There was just dirt and no light, and… It was so fucking cold and wet, and I thought he was gonna leave me to die. Please, Master, don’t say I’ve been that bad. I- I didn’t mean all I did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I ain’t ever gonna do it again.”

There was such anger within Nickel at the boy’s words that he didn’t know what to do with himself. That cruel bastard must have found a hatch, or another kind of opening, in his apartment building that led down into the crawl space under the house. He’d chained Taven, hand and feet, thrown him down this hole, and had left him in the dark. Cold, wet and alone, Taven hadn’t even known if the man intended to come back at all, and there had been rats…

Nickel shuddered; he would have gone mad if someone had done that to him. He felt sick when he realized how the slave would not consider flogging even close to the worst kind of punishment. 

“Listen to me, Taven,” Nickel said, fighting to keep his voice steady.” I would never do that to you. _Never_! You haven’t been that bad and you never will be bad enough for me to even considering doing something so horrible. Don’t be afraid, it will never happen to you again. I swear it will never happen again.”


	25. The Trials of a Poor Slave Owner

Nickel stared at the neatly sorted pile of papers on his desk, documents to sign, bills to pay, receipts and mail to go through, only waiting for him to dig in. He sighed deeply, leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the desktop, pushing the piles aside with his heels.

His father had hated it when, as a boy, he’d slouched in his chair and put his feet up like this. He would probably scold his son in much the same fashion for doing it now. However, his father wasn’t here. 

He really should go through those papers. It had piled up for the last few days, but his mind was elsewhere and he couldn’t concentrate on electrical bills and leasing contracts. Thoughts of what had happened in Taven’s room yesterday evening were filling up his mind plenty. 

It had been an emotionally intense moment. Taven had misinterpreted his intentions, and Nickel had been appalled, angry and disgusted at what he’d learned. He’d been overwhelmed with compassion at the boy breaking down, begging at his feet, and there had been no more talk of punishment of any kind. Nickel had comforted and assured Taven as best he could instead. He’d put the boy to bed, and had sat with him until he’d fallen asleep, mentally exhausted by the crying fit and the fears, which had probably plagued him the whole day. 

Nickel had left a sleeping Taven to call Roth, who had had no other choice than to be the recipient of his upset and angry rants. He had beseeched Roth to give investigating Swift another try. They couldn’t just give up, there had to be _something_. Roth, the ever-patient friend, had promised to give it another go, but had warned him nothing might come of it. Bending a few rules was one thing, but there was only so much he could do without breaking the law upfront. Nickel had had to be satisfied with that promise. At least it had felt better to talk with someone. 

He was feeling the same anger, frustrated helplessness, pity and compassion today. It wasn’t that he wasn’t. Still, there was this faint but growing suspicion at the back of his mind, a suspicion that, on some level, he was being played.

In spite of everything, there was this tiny little voice pointing out to him, what slave wouldn’t have wanted things to end the way they did yesterday, instead of enduring punishment. Surely, the boy couldn’t truly believe he would do such an awful thing. Nickel was certain Taven must know him at least that well by now, so, had Taven counted on his master’s reaction?

The same voice wanted him to consider the boy might have even faked it. However, Nickel pushed this possibility aside before he’d even finished the thought. There was no way Taven’s breakdown had been an act. Those had been real fears, and genuine tears. 

Besides, Taven had certainly not faked the physical evidence of the abuse that had been inflicted on him. Nickel would believe anything of a man like James Swift based only on what Dr. Cordeaux had found out, regardless of what the slave had ever told either of them. He could see the scars himself, and the veterinarian did exist, Roth had found him. Throwing the boy into a pit of rats was hardly a stretch. 

Nickel didn’t think Taven was lying to him, and neither was he acting. That wasn’t it. 

No, if there was any manipulation on the slave’s part, it was in how he might choose the moments to let go. The boy might simply consider the best times to show his master what his true feelings and fears really were, or, maybe he didn’t plan it beforehand, Nickel thought, but seized the opportunities as they presented themselves. Why wouldn’t he? It obviously worked.

Nickel felt his cheeks go hot. He was so easily played, wasn’t he? Nickel might think he always saw through the boy, think he was strict and demanding, not letting Taven get away with things, but was it always the truth? Oh, it was probably mostly true, he thought. A simple sulk or some whining wouldn’t get Taven anywhere. However, whenever Taven truly opened up, fell apart, and displayed such utter vulnerability, then Nickel was putty in the boy’s hands, wasn’t he? 

He had thought the boy had started to trust him more and more, but maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe he was only learning how to better manipulate his master? Was he too much of a softy? Did Taven think him weak? Did the slave at all respect him? 

Nickel simply had to get back to the question of punishment, he thought, determinedly putting his feet back on the floor and sitting up straight in the chair.

\-----o0o-----

Taven felt sick as he followed a maid through the house. As usual, they didn’t speak to him, and he was as relieved about that as ever. He was much too worried to pretend at being nice.

This wasn’t good. 

Taven had only been sent to the master’s study once before, and by now he understood it meant something serious was going on. It’s where slaves were sent to be informed of their punishment. A few weeks back he’d heard people talk outside his door early one morning. They’d gossiped about how – whatever the fuck his name was again – had been sloppy with some important thing or other, he hadn’t quite caught that part, and the master had ordered the guy sent to the study. They’d said ‘what’s his name’ had been sloppy for the last time, and would really get it now.

Today there would be punishment, all right. 

Taven hated himself for how he’d broken down the night before. Letting go to be troublesome and provoke his master was one thing, but showing his weaknesses so openly had been fucking stupid. He didn’t even know why he had. Fear had simply taken him over and he’d freaked out. Words had just poured out of him, and he’d wept like a fucking baby, and… 

He didn’t even remember half of it; he’d been that far gone. 

The weirdest thing was it had felt good. Well, being frightened out of his fucking mind hadn’t, of course, but then, later, things had started to feel scarily good. 

Again, his master had held him. He’d comforted him, reassured him, made him feel safe and protected, but it had all been total fucking bullshit, because now he was going to be punished anyway, and this time, thanks to his own endless stupidity, the man would know exactly what scared him the most.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel wasn’t ashamed to admit he wasn’t a disciplinarian by nature and found violence distasteful. It wasn’t as if he would be completely incapable of hitting someone, under the right, or wrong, circumstances, he was only human after all. However, the dispassionate order to have bodily pain inflicted on people who couldn’t defend themselves had never sat well with him.

His brother had shared his feelings.

Once, many years ago – Nickel had been nine years old, and Taven, seven – they had played in the gardens behind the mansion when a male house slave had been dragged out of the kitchen door by two sturdy outdoor workers. He never learned what the young slave had done, but whatever it was, obviously his father had thought it called for a flogging. 

Even back then, it wasn’t something that happened often; or, more likely, their father usually saw to it to shield them from witnessing such things. In any case, Taven and he had both been scared and shocked at how the slave had cried and begged for mercy as he was being dragged past them, at how he had struggled and dug in his heels, his terror raw and palpable. 

The house slave’s pleas and struggles had been to no avail. The outdoor workers had taken the hysterically crying man down to a shed behind the barn, and in spite of their own fear, Nickel and Taven had followed. They had listened outside the door, and heard the entire horrible process, heard every lash hitting flesh, and the desperate screams of pain following in their wake.

They had both cried. 

At his little brother’s tears, Nickel had promised that when they grew up and _he_ became Head Lord, and was the one in charge, he would forbid all such horrible things ever happening in their home again. 

A childish promise perhaps, one made in the naïveté of boyhood, without having the experiences and knowledge of an adult that would make you understand the occasional necessity of such things. Perhaps. However, Nickel was now an adult, and he was certainly still not convinced of any such necessity. Even so, he wasn’t quite the Head Lord just yet, and his brother was no longer with them, but he had seen no reason to go back on the promise when he was finally able to make good on it. The week after his father had left the care of the estate in his hands, and moved out – Nickel had had the punishment shed torn down.

He’d received quite the scolding, as he’d called his father to confess to what he had done, but the old Head Lord hadn’t insisted on it being rebuilt, he had only ended the call with telling his son he hoped he knew what he was doing. 

It _had_ left him with the problem of what he was supposed to do instead to uphold the order and discipline of the mansion’s slave population. However, it had turned out to be a matter of insignificant concern. There was rarely any trouble around here to speak of. Nickel had to admit this was more his father and grandfather’s doing than his own, and it might explain why the Head Lord hadn’t yelled at him more than he had, about tearing down the shed. 

When his father had retired, he had left his son an already effectively functioning well-oiled machine, developed over centuries by the strict hands of his ancestors. Most of the time it ran smoothly and according to age-old rules, habits and traditions. If there had been slaves at the mansion with a rebellious nature, an ungrateful disposition, or too much of a mind of their own, his father had weeded them out long ago. Much like he did the comfrey, which made yearly attempts to take over his beloved rose garden. 

The slaves living here at the present were loyal to the family who owned them, Nickel thought, and knew to be grateful they were allowed to serve in a good home. They rarely made trouble, but it wasn’t to say there were never any problems at all. 

It happened that slaves were sloppy with their work, that they broke stuff, lost tools, forgot their duties, overslept… Conflicts, even skirmishes, between them weren’t unheard of either. Especially the younger males could sometimes be troublesome in this way. It was only natural that young boys, ripe with hormones, would, for example, have their eyes on the same girl and get in a fight over her. Nickel understood, and could easily have forgiven them for such things, but he still had to deal with it. 

Most of the minor problems Nickel didn’t bother with himself. With this many slaves about, you could of course not personally train and keep an eye on every one of them. Certain slaves the clans called ‘trusties’ were chosen – usually among the older more stable and experienced ones – to stay on top of these issues. Nickel knew they could sometimes be harsh about it. He’d witnessed trusties slap the younger ones around on several occasions, but mostly he let them. This self-regulating disciplinary system benefited the whole house, after all. Clan traditions had always included a system of raising slaves to train themselves and keep each other in check. He wouldn’t allow trusties to mete out more severe physical reminders on their own, but a simple slap, or two… Yes, usually, he let that pass. 

It was on the few occasions when he saw it necessary to deal with a problem in person that he fought with his inner dilemmas. 

If a slave had done something serious enough, or repeated a smaller offence often enough, that it became something which was brought before the master, then that slave had already deserved a more severe punishment than a slap. This would often have meant corporal punishment in his father’s days. In his grandfather’s days, so his father had told him, it _would_ have meant a whipping, and that was that.

His father had toned down the severity of these punishments. He had forbidden the use of whips, or any other implement that easily cut the skin and left scars. They had continued to drag slaves down to that horrible shed, though, but only to use a wide leather strap. Maybe it had no longer drawn blood as easily, but it was still painful and traumatic enough. Of course, Nickel didn’t have to hold this strap in his own hand and didn’t have to witness it either – his father never had – but he still couldn’t bring himself to order such a thing.

Nickel had other means. His methods were more time consuming, and did demand his own direct involvement, but, so far, it had proved surprisingly effective. 

Unlike his father, and it seemed, the rest of his ancestors, Nickel had understood how being sent before the master only was actually often frightening enough. These were people who had been told their whole lives their owners had the power of life and death over them, after all, and that there would be nowhere to turn for help. It was rarely necessary to beat them to drive this point home.

Nickel would have the sinning slave sent to the study to give them a most thorough scolding, which, he had eventually noticed, was often made even more effective when mixed with only a few consoling and understanding words. He would have them recount their deeds, in detail, to show him they fully understood what they had done wrong. Lastly, they would have to tell _him_ what they could do to make up for their transgressions. He wouldn’t let them try to excuse themselves, or beg for forgiveness. Being brought before the master had them flustered and stammering, eventually often crying, but Nickel wouldn’t let them off the hook until he saw a genuine will to repent in their eyes, not only heard it out of their mouths.

He acknowledged he took advantage of his intellect and gift of speech against people who was less advantaged in these areas, and weren’t used to argue and debate, especially against free people. It was clear most of them found the situation challenging and sometimes he’d thought some would have almost preferred a flogging before such a ‘grilling’. 

Nickel didn’t find the experience pleasant either, often fighting with himself not to give in to compassion and simply forgive them. However, to harden his heart, Nickel only had to remember that slave from his childhood, screaming in pain and terror, and his brother crying and flinching at the sound of the lashes. 

Most of them usually bettered themselves, no inflicted physical pain needed. 

In the few cases where the culprit was of a harder material, not as easily intimidated, and more stubbornly holding on to a lack of remorse, well, Nickel had yet another weapon in his arsenal. The one he called his ‘last resort’. If nothing else helped, he would simply threaten to sell them if they kept making trouble.

It _always_ worked.

Nickel was well aware of the special circumstances that made it so effective. In the ‘real’ world, outside of the rather old-fashioned and closed off clans, life was, in some aspects, different for most slaves. Apart from the clan estates, the larger professional breeders and traders, a few government facilities, and some privately owned industries, no places would hold a bigger amount of slaves, and nowhere else but on the clan estates would they be allowed to create family-like bonds that lasted for generations. 

Private middle and lower class owners would rarely keep more than two or three slaves at the most, usually only one. Slaves were overall a minority in the country, and outside the clans; it was common to keep them isolated from each other. 

Being sold must always be a frightening experience, Nickel imagined, and maybe a slave out there wouldn’t want to leave an owner who treated them well, fearing ending up with a harsher one. However, if they had a harsh owner to begin with, being sold was probably something they wished for, hoping for better luck next time. They would rarely be forced to leave family behind in any case.

A slave who was sold from an estate, such as the Wren Mansion, would be forced to leave _everything_ behind. 

Most of them were born here, as were their mothers and fathers before them. They would never see family, relatives, lovers and friends again, and on top of this would have a completely unknown future before them that they had no control over whatsoever. 

Nickel did realize the cruelty in threatening such a thing. There was a reason he called it his _last_ resort. It wasn’t something he casually would throw in a slave’s face, and he most sincerely hoped he would never be forced to go through with it. During the four years he’d been in charge, he’d only felt he had to use it on two different occasions. In none of them had it been necessary to make real on the threat, or even repeat it a second time.

He feared, when it came to Taven, he would now need to use some kind of version of his ‘last resort’, but the question was if it would have any effect. The boy had no connections to the other slaves here that he could threaten to break. Taven only had him. Would it be enough, and if it was enough, was it being too cruel?

Nickel had already decided what to do, but he felt far from good about it. 

There was a knock on the door, and the maid he’d sent to fetch Taven silently showed the boy in. Taven reluctantly stepped over the threshold, but stayed by the door and didn’t look up at him. 

Nickel again reminded himself he had to be harder. It was only that it was considerably more difficult with this boy than with any other slave in the house. 

He cleared his throat. “There’s still the matter of punishment,” he said.


	26. Ultimatums

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach at his master’s announcement. Taven had known it, but it didn’t make this less frightening, and no less confusing. If his master hadn’t lied to him yesterday then he would neither flog nor beat him, nor put him in a hole, or sell him… 

Then what the fuck _would_ happen to him? He just didn’t understand a fucking thing.

He found himself in the strange situation of knowing he would fucking hate the man on the other side of the desk if he had lied to him, and at the same time almost hoping he had lied. At least if his master did end up doing one of those things after all, then he would know it wouldn’t be something even more horrible. 

His master cleared his throat again. It actually sounded like the man had trouble getting it out. Taven felt ever more scared, his hands shaking. Would it be _that_ bad? 

“Taven,” his master finally said, the sudden voice making him flinch. “I don’t want to hurt you, not in any way. Do I really have to, to make you understand?” 

He wanted to scream. No, you don’t have to hurt me, Taven wanted to yell. I get it. I’ll understand everything you want me to. Of course, he would have said that no matter if he understood or not. If lying to a master could save him from pain, he wouldn’t hesitate for a single second. 

However, in this case, he actually did get it. He knew what he had done and he knew it was bad. It was only that he thought it was so fucking unfair. The other lord had done the most wrong; his master even agreed he had, but the man would still punish him. Of course, unfair punishments weren’t anything new, and masters never cared in any case, only, this master claimed he did care. It felt like a fucking betrayal, on top of everything else. 

He didn’t say anything at all.

His master sighed at his silence. “Well, as punishment, you will have to apologize to Lord Steinbock. I will take you to his home in the city tomorrow morning.”

Taven finally looked up then, in sheer astonishment. He would only have to apologize, and that was all? “What?” he blurted out. “I just have to say I’m sorry?” He blinked stupidly at the man behind the big black desk.

He remembered a similar situation, weeks ago, when his master had taken him here to apologize to his bodyguard. It had astonished him back then as well, but, amazingly, it had turned out to be the truth, he only had had to apologize to Mr. Roth. Maybe this time, too, he would only have to…

“No,” his master said, interrupting his awakening hope, definitely crushing it. “It’s not as easy this time.” The man sighed deeply, looking sad. “If you can’t learn to hold your tongue in public, slave, then I can’t use you. You will have to give Jan Steinbock a _formal_ apology, not only ‘say you’re sorry’, and if you can’t do that in an acceptable manner then- then I will be forced to… Then I will remove you from my service.” 

Taven went cold all over. There would be no physical pain, no hole, but here then was his real punishment. The man would throw him out, after all. Rejected, discarded and sold. There could be no other ending to this, because he didn’t even fucking know what a ‘formal apology’ was, much less knew how to perform one. “You… You just want me gone,” he yelled, completely losing it in his bitterness. “I don’t know how to fucking do those, and- and you know… You _know_ that. You just wanna fucking sell me.” 

Again, his master had set him up for failure, but this time it would cost him much more than broken pencils and the humiliation of realizing he was stupider than a five year old.

Tears of anger and hurt welled up in his eyes to a point where he almost couldn’t see the man before him, but he kept yelling at the blurry apparition. He’d known it. Taven had _known_ this wouldn’t last, that it would come to this. He’d told himself to be prepared, not to let himself get too comfortable, only, he could never have prepared for that it would actually hurt _this_ damn bad. 

“You- you fucking lying _bastard_!” he ended his angry tirade, and it seemed as if he had finally provoked his master one too many times. 

The man dashed out of his chair, rounded the desk with fury in his eyes and came at him with angry strides. Taven nearly peed himself when his owner grabbed his arm and pulled at him roughly. 

However, there was no beating.

The man stared at him, anger still in his eyes, “Don’t…” he started, breathing through his nose. “Don’t you _dare_ accuse me of such things! After all I’ve done, you don’t think better of me than this?”

Taven stared back in frightened bewilderment. He didn’t understand, and he couldn’t get a word out.

His master closed his eyes and shook his head. He let go of his arm and retreated a few steps, again looking sad only, and not angry anymore at all. “I _don’t_ want to get rid of you, don’t you understand?” he said. “The whole point of me doing this is that I want to keep you. I told you I wouldn’t sell you, and I have no intentions of going back on my promises.”

Taven was becoming more confused by the second, but the man had just said that…

“I realize you still don’t trust me,” the man went on, “and I suppose I can’t blame you, but I damn well can demand of you to at least hear me out before you start accusing me of all sorts of cruelties.” His master pointed strictly at him with a demanding finger. “From now on you will listen to me, slave, and let me finish. Do you understand?” 

Taven hung his head, filled with shame, a shame he didn’t even know where the fuck it came from. He was so, so confused. 

“You will not be sold,” the man continued. “But if you won’t take this seriously, then I can’t keep you in my _personal_ service. I will have to hand you over to the other slaves and find you work somewhere else on the estate. You will still be safe here, but… you can’t be with me anymore.”

Taven swallowed hard. To him, that didn’t sound much better than being sold. He didn’t know anyone else here, and had hardly spoken more than a word or two, at the most, to anyone. He didn’t even know the names of the few he had talked to. Good or bad, the man before him was his whole world, and the rest of the house was full of unknown slaves he had no more reason to trust than he had free people. 

Again, his master reached for him, but this time only to gently stroke the hanging strands of hair out of his face. “How could you ever think I would trick you to fail only so that I could get rid of you?” his master said, even smiling a little. “Think about it, slave, why would I do that? I can do what I want, there’s no one to criticize me. If I wanted you gone, I would have simply gotten rid of you. I wouldn’t need to go through the trouble of setting you up with a rigged test, now would I?”

Taven felt stupid. What his master said was true.

His master kept a gentle hand on his cheek. “I know you don’t know what a formal apology is, but if you had only given me the chance I would have explained I mean to show you how, and train with you. I will teach you all you need to know and I will help you, but then it’s up to you to show me I should still keep you with me. Do you understand this?”

Taven nodded.

“You will speak up properly when you answer me, slave,” his master admonished him. “Am I being fair to you?”

“Yes, Master,” Taven murmured. He couldn’t say the man wasn’t, could he? 

His master pulled him into a hug then. “You’ll do fine, Taven,” he comforted. “We’ll have all evening to practice.”

Taven just stood there, arms hanging at his sides, far from calmed by the man’s assurances. He would only have until tomorrow to learn this formal apology?

Oh, he would be so fucking screwed.

\-----o0o-----

Taven waited in the classroom. His master had sent him up only a little while earlier, promising he would soon follow. As far as Taven was concerned, the man could be as fucking late as he wanted. He wasn’t in a hurry to start this damn punishment.

He knew he should be both relieved and grateful. In spite of the fact he’d been stupid and revealed too much about himself; his master hadn’t used his biggest fear against him, and wouldn’t even do anything to him that hurt. However, he was unable to feel either. His master still knew too much, and it was just too fitting, wasn’t it, that as punishment, he had to fucking learn something. 

The waiting made him increasingly jittery, and he couldn’t sit still in his chair for long. He had to get up to pace the room, going back and forth across the creaking floorboards. Even if his master hadn’t set him up to fail, how the hell could the man think he would do anything else? He knew his slave was an idiot, he _knew_.

Just the other week his master had tried teaching him math, and it had been a fucking disaster. Reading and writing, at least he understood how it was supposed to work, even if he was bad at it, but this… Taven hadn’t understood math at all, and no matter how the man had tried to explain it to him in different ways, the numbers had kept eluding and confusing him. Yeah, adding one number to another, he’d gotten that part, even if he couldn’t actually do it in his head with any numbers bigger than five, but already when his master had brought up ‘subtraction’ his brain had more or less shut down. He didn’t get math, he didn’t understand what he was supposed to do, and the numbers had only danced before his eyes on the pages, weirdly changing places. 

His master had finally given up, and sent him out into the gardens, looking resigned and worried as he left. Yeah, the man should be worried. He’d bought a slave who was worthless and incapable of learning, and now, Taven risked being ‘sent out of the classroom’ for good. 

All right, the man wouldn't sell him, and his master had claimed he’d still be safe in this house, but Taven didn’t believe it. His master must be blind if he didn’t see what was going on around here, or he was a fucking liar to call it ‘safe’. 

Taven hadn’t seen much of either the house slaves, or most of the outdoor workers, but as he walked in the gardens nearly every day, he did see many of the gardeners. Like everyone else, they avoided him and only murmured a quick ‘hello’ if they happened to walk past so close they couldn’t claim they hadn’t seen him. However, he often saw them working from afar. 

At a distance, he’d seen as good as all of them getting both smacked and yelled at by a certain slave – an older, bald, guy with a big belly – several times. That fucker was on their backs for the smallest mistakes, and they cowered before him as if he was the master himself. Obviously, he had the master’s approval. 

So, how the hell would he be safe here if some of the slaves were allowed to do that?

Taven didn’t doubt for one second that wherever he would end up in this place he would get the same treatment, and if there weren’t any witnesses, probably much worse. Yes, in the same moment his master took his hand from him, it would all start again, taunts, beatings, fucks… It would never end, and his master wouldn’t see, or wouldn’t care. 

He stopped pacing and sat down heavily in his chair, trying not to freak out at the images in his head. He just couldn’t afford to screw this up.

Taven reluctantly got to his feet again in greeting when his master came inside the classroom the second after, but the man ignored him. He went straight for the bookcases, obviously looking for something specific. Finally finding it, he came up to Taven and held it up before him.

“I don’t often insist on formal behavior of this magnitude,” he said. “I will have to brush up on the subject myself. Fortunately, there’s a book for everything. What does the title say?” he demanded, holding an old book under his nose. 

Taven peered at the cover and tried to decipher the words. “Sssl… Slave et- eti…”

“’Slave Etiquette’,” his master filled in. “Can you imagine someone wrote a book like that? Well, I think it’s just what we’ll need. Sit down for a moment,” he ordered.

He obeyed, while his master walked over to sit at the edge of the teacher’s desk, leafing through the book in silence, stopping now and then to read. Taven watched him intensively, pulling the braid over his shoulder to twist it around his hands. 

“All right,” his master said, putting the book down, but keeping it open. “Now we can start. A formal apology is done while lowering yourself in a ritualized fashion, so it seems I will have to teach you how to kneel properly first.”

Taven felt the same kind of exasperated irritation and bewilderment as at his first attendance lesson. He’d spent at least half his fucking life on his knees, what the fuck was there to learn about it. He didn’t understand clan people at all. Why the hell did they always make the simplest thing into something as difficult as possible? It wasn’t enough to have slaves crawling at their feet; they had to do it in the ‘correct way’, too? If anyone would ask him, he’d say it was only to have more reasons to punish them if they did it wrong. Maybe his _master_ wasn’t like that, but it had to be how some fucking shithead of an evil motherfucking lord had thought up these fucking stupid shitty rules in the first place.

Of course, no one would ask him.

His master walked out onto the floor. “Come here,” he ordered.

Taven obeyed, trying to push down his resentful feelings while walking up to the man. 

“Show me how you would kneel,” his master said. “Imagine you’re apologizing to me.”

Taven clumsily fell to his knees before the man, looking away, pressing his lips together. 

His master sighed, shaking his head. “You might want to look like you’re at least pretending to be sorry,” he said. 

Yeah, Taven thought, it was the whole problem, wasn’t it? He wasn’t fucking sorry. He wisely decided against informing his master about this simple fact.

“Get up,” his master ordered, and when he obeyed, the man cupped his chin with a gentle hand and made him look at him. “You don’t feel sorry at all, I get it. Well, I can’t force you to feel something you don’t, but you have better not show this face to Lord Steinbock or it won’t matter how much you manage to perfect your apology.”

Taven tried his best not to look like anything at all then, letting his face go slack. 

“Well, I suppose we’ll work on that later,” his master said. He let go of him and turned to fetch the open book from the desk. “I might as well explain the whole procedure to you first, and then we’ll practice, step by step.”

Taven only just managed to repress a sigh. His master loved to explain things. Taven wasn’t as enthusiastic a listener. 

“We will walk up to Lord Steinbock together,” he started, glancing at the pages. “You will keep behind me, as when you’re attending me. Then I will step aside and you will face Jan on your own. You are to keep your back straight, no slouching!” he added in warning, looking at him strictly over the rim of the book. “You will keep your arms at your side and your head slightly downcast. Next, you will bow from the waist, your back still straight and your arms still at your side. This bow is not to be kept for more than a moment, and you will stand up straight again without being told to.”

Taven started to feel worried.

His master turned a page. “This is where you’ll recite the actual apology.” He looked up at him again. “You will have to learn it by heart, but don’t worry, it’s not very long. I’ll teach you what to say later.” He glanced back down at the pages. “After the spoken apology you will take one step back and gracefully sink down on your knees. You will sit back on your heels for only a moment before bowing again, this time all the way down to the floor. Your forehead has to touch the floorboards, understand?”

The man obviously didn’t expect an answer. He went on without pause, giving Taven no chance to process what he heard. 

“As you bow down you will reach your arms forward and let your hands rest on the floor before you, palms up. You will stay in this exact position until Jan gives you permission to rise again, either by word or by touching your head or back. Given permission, you will get back on your feet as gracefully, and wait to be dismissed. When you are, you will retreat to your place behind me. 

“Except for the spoken part of the apology, you will not utter a single word during the entire procedure, unless you are directly spoken to in a way that demands an answer.”

His master let the book sink, holding it at his side. “That’s all,” he ended the lecture.

Taven could only stare at his master with his mouth open, and he couldn’t help the loud moan. “What the fu… Master, you can’t be serious. Please,I’m never gonna remember all this. _Never_! I- I just can’t. Master, please.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel wouldn’t let his mood sink. He had expected this. The boy’s kneejerk reaction was always to be completely overwhelmed by any assignment put before him. He was learning to ignore the slave’s despair and to simply push and guide him past it. In spite of his automatic whining, Taven would surely try harder than usual, as well, now when he knew what was at stake. He was certain the boy would rather stay with him than be put to work somewhere else on the estate.

“There’s not at all much to remember,” he said. “It only seems so when I read it to you like this. As I said, we’ll take this step by step, and then you’ll see it’s only a few movements, which isn’t hard to remember at all.”

Taven’s expression told him he didn’t believe him, but Nickel ignored it. “Let’s start,” he said, not giving the boy any more time to fret about it. He turned his back on Taven. “Now, you’ll attend me as I’ve taught you, and we’ll walk up to the teacher’s desk. Then I’ll stop, turn around, and we’ll pretend I’m Jan.”

Nickel started walking and Taven followed, but when he halted and turned the boy only stood there, shifting feet and looking up into the ceiling. “Well?” Nickel demanded.

“I don’t remember a fucking thing you said, do I?” Taven said.

“Language, slave, watch your language!” Nickel admonished him. “Keep your back straight, arms at your side, and bow,” he reminded him. 

Taven did as he was told. 

Nickel forced a smile. “That’s good, Taven. Not bad,” he lied. The bow hadn’t looked good at all, but he didn’t want to discourage the boy, now that he was actually trying. “Let’s still practice a few more times. Try it again, but this time, keep your back more straight from the start.”

He had Taven repeat the bow until he thought it was at least passable before going on with the next step, leaving out the recited apology for the moment. Taven was only marginally quicker in learning the kneeling and bowing to the floor correctly, but he obviously didn’t particularly enjoy the position. He sat up again almost immediately.

“You are to stay down until you’re permitted to rise,” Nickel reminded him. “Do it again!”

Taven reluctantly obeyed, but again he sat up without permission. 

Nickel couldn’t help it; he lost his patience. He harshly grabbed Taven by the neck with one hand and his shoulder with the other, and simply pressed him against the floor. Taven yelped in surprise, swore loudly, and squirmed in his hands, but Nickel didn’t let go. On the contrary, his grip hardened as he pressed the boy’s cheek against the floorboards. 

Taven being difficult in the classroom was nothing new, but this time it made him angrier than usual. The last Nickel wanted was to send Taven away, and if the boy forced him to, he would be very, very angry with him. He felt strangely hurt, too. Taven wasn’t making an extra effort in spite of the threat, he thought. Did it mean so little to the boy to get to stay with him? 

The boy gave up a choked whimper. “Ow! Master, please, that hurts,” he begged.

“Nonsense,” Nickel growled. He was still angry and he wasn’t going to let up on the grip. “I’m not hurting you at all. I’m only holding you in place, until you learn to do what I tell you.”

Taven kept squirming, but he was hardly a match for Nickel’s strength.

“Ow, _fuck_…” he complained. “But- but I don’t remember, Master,” he tried.

Nickel hardened the grip of his neck even more. “I’ve told you a million times, do not swear! I instructed you about this less than a minute ago. You think I’d believe you’ve already forgotten. Now, after you have bowed down, what was the instruction?”

“You said… You told me to- to... You said not to get up without permission?” Taven asked. There was fear in his voice now.

“Correct. So, why did you sit up without permission then? Twice!”

“I- I… I don’t know, Master. I forgot, I… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I ain’t gonna do it again.”

Nickel slowly let go of him then, but nailed him to the floor still with a stern look. Taven stared back up at him. Emotions flickered over his face, hurt, defiance, anger, fear, but he didn’t move. Slowly he turned his head to let his forehead touch the floorboards again, and stretched his hands out in front of him, palms up, assuming the correct position. This time he stayed down. 

He let him stay for a little bit longer than what was necessary. “That’s much better, Taven,” he finally said. “Now you can get up.”

Taven unhappily got to his feet to stand before him, head hanging, rubbing at his neck. 

Nickel felt bad. He didn’t want to be this forceful with Taven, and he hadn’t liked the tone of fear in the slave’s voice when he’d pressed him against the floor, but he wasn’t going to show how he felt. Taven might need his comfort and care, but, he reminded himself, the slave needed a firm hand, as well.

“As I said, that was much better.” Nickel didn’t let up on his strict voice and expression. “Now, let’s take it all from the start again.”

There was exasperation in the boy’s whole demeanor, but, for once, there wasn’t even a hint of whining, or a single begging or complaining word out of his mouth. 

This time, Taven simply obeyed.


	27. The Formal Apology

Taven thought he’d never been more nervous in his life as his master drove them into the city. Going to the party two days ago had been nothing in comparison. That night he’d worried his master _might_ throw him out if he didn’t behave correctly, this morning he _knew_ the man would discard him if he screwed up. 

He kept casting hopeful glances at his master, but in spite of the fact his owner had worked with him tirelessly through half the night, there seemed to be no support to expect from that direction today. The man looked straight ahead, concentrated on his driving, and ignored him, not talking. 

They parked on a fancy street, walked inside one of the large grand buildings and into an elevator.

It was the lord himself who answered the door, greeting his master, but Taven only understood that from hearing them talking. He kept his eyes on the floor, and moved only when his master moved, staying behind him as he’d been taught. 

They were shown inside. 

Taven heard how his master was offered a drink, but to his great relief the man declined. He soon lost track of the meaningless polite small talk that followed, trying to get his nerves under control. 

“… and here he is now.”

“Ah, yes, the little man, with the very big mouth.”

Taven looked up in surprise and confusion. His master had stepped aside and much too soon he found himself standing in front the free man he had so gravely insulted. Taven hadn’t realized their small talk had stopped and the formal apology had begun. He’d not paid attention, lost in his own uneasy thoughts. 

He was screwing up already.

Lord Steinbock stared at him, his expression clearly showing he expected the slave before him to do something. Taven stared back. It struck him he didn’t even recognize the man. How many men had used him over the years? He had no idea. This man could have been any one of them. With time, most of them had merged in his mind anyway, into a single generic asshole. This asshole wasn’t just anyone though; he was the one who held his whole future in his hands. 

The pressure of it all chased every memory of the lengthy training session the night before out of Taven’s mind. His head was as empty as could be. Everything he had learned was erased and obliterated… Gone. Just as he would be, long before this day was over. Taven was frozen in place, unable to move or speak for the life of him.

He startled violently when there was a light hand on his shoulder, but his master’s voice in his ear didn’t sound angry, or even annoyed. 

“It’s all right, Taven,” his master whispered, rubbing his back consolingly. “Remember what we practiced? You start with a bow.”

The soft reminder snapped him out of it. He took an awkward step forward and bowed stiffly, and then it was as if the rest followed on its own. He recited the practiced words and sank down on the floor in the deep kneeling apology bow. At least he hoped he had. Taven stared at the parquet flooring under his nose and tried to still his beating heart. Had he done it all correctly? He honestly had no idea. It was all a haze and he couldn’t tell what he had actually said or done.

He heard steps, and when he carefully moved his head, without losing contact with the floor, he saw a pair of shoes just beside him. 

“You may stand up, boy,” a voice said.

He obeyed, dragging himself to his feet on unsteady legs, keeping his eyes on the floor. He was surprised the offended lord didn’t sound angrier. In fact, he didn’t sound angry at all. 

“Well,” the lord said. “This is certainly an improvement from the last time we met. I’d dare say I’ve never heard such language out of the mouth of a slave before, especially not an exotic. Where on earth did they raise you?”

Taven kept quiet. He wasn’t sure if it was something that demanded an answer, and he was supposed to shut up, he did remember that. 

His master spoke in his place. “That would be the South End.”

The other lord grinned. “Goodness, Nickel, you picked up a slave down at the _South End_?” He turned back to Taven. “Well given those circumstances, I suppose I should blame this on your master’s bad judgment, rather than on you, boy. No offence, Nickel,” he added. “You can take a good-natured joke, can’t you?”

Taven looked up at his master. His smile was slightly strained.

“I don’t regret buying him,” he answered. “Though I admit, there has been a lot to catch up on.”

“I’ll say… Well then, slave, I would advise you to pay better attention to what your master is kind enough to teach you. The next person you open your mouth to might not be so forgiving. You’re not a bad looking exotic, I’d hate to see you flogged at such a young age, or destroyed…” The lord coughed in his hand and looked away. “Especially if I, in any way, had a part in it. I hope you understand, boy, that I would never have hurt you, and… Well, I’m sorry I frightened you so badly you felt you had to lash out in such a manner. It wasn’t my intent.” 

Taven stared. The man was sorry? He couldn’t believe what he heard. In his entire life, it had never happened that someone had used him and then felt bad about it. Regretted it, yeah, but felt bad they’d hurt or scared him? No, that just didn’t happen. “What?” he blurted out before he was able to stop himself. “You’re… You’re _sorry_?” 

He immediately realized he’d talked out of turn when he saw his master looking down and slapping a hand over his forehead. “Jan, I apologize,” he said. “I _have_ taught him not to…”

The other lord only smiled, and raised a hand to cut his master’s excuses short, but he looked serious enough when he turned back to Taven. “I touched someone else’s property,” he said. “This is where I sinned. It’s a matter only between your master and I, boy, but… If my person alone scares someone to such an extent, then, yes, I confess, it does somewhat saddens me.”

The man really was sorry. Taven felt somewhat bad himself now, for yelling such shitty things. “It wasn’t, like, _that_ bad, Sir,” he said. “I’m sorta used to it. I’ve been fucked, like, a million times, anyway, and- and… I’m sorry, too, I didn’t mean to be such an ass, and…”

He silenced abruptly when his master grabbed his arm and jerked him close. “Taven, that’s enough,” he warned.

“Oh, shit,” Taven blurted out. “I wasn’t gonna talk no more, was I? I’m sorry, Master, I forgot, I… _Fuck_, I’m doing it _again_.” Taven could have cried. It had been going so well, considering, and then he started to make mistake after mistake without being able to stop himself. What the fuck was wrong with him?

There was a sudden and boisterous laugh behind them. “Oh, you have your work cut out for you with this one, haven’t you?” the lord said, chuckling at his master. “I don’t envy you one bit. Well, crude as he is, I think I was actually able to detect an honestly meant apology somewhere in this blabbering, and it did sound more sincere than the one he was taught to recite. How about if we simply forget this now, and put it behind us. Are you sure you don’t want an early drink, Nickel?”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel didn’t start the car immediately. He leaned back and looked at the boy beside him in the passenger seat. Taven hung his head and kept twisting his braid around his fingers with shaking hands. Nickel had seen him do that on numerous occasions. It was some kind of nervous tic, he thought.

“Taven…” he started, but the boy cut him off.

“I fucked up, Master,” he said, a near sob in his voice. “I fucking screwed it up.”

“That’s one way to put it, yes,” Nickel admitted. He was glad Taven at least understood his speaking out of turn had been inappropriate, and had ruined the formal apology. 

Taven gasped at his words. “Please don’t send me away, Master,” he begged, hunching over in the car seat, his shoulders shaking. “Please! I’ll try harder with- with everything. You can still punish me. You can beat me more. It’ll help, I promise. Just- just don’t send me away, _please_.”

“Oh, Taven! Listen to me. All I wanted from you was an understanding of what you’re doing wrong, to take things seriously, and make an actual effort to learn and behave better. All I needed was a rational reason to keep working on you. It doesn’t matter to me if you managed this perfectly, or not. Last night, you eventually did make an effort to learn, and I do believe you did your best this morning, too. Make no mistakes about it, slave, blabbering to free people is bad. We will have to work on that; you simply have to learn to control yourself, boy, but… You did your best, and I’m pleased with you.”

Taven dropped the braid in his lap and looked up, eyes wide and hopeful. “I can stay?”

Nickel nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You can stay, but we _have_ to work harder on…”

Taven had obviously stopped listening already at ‘yes’. Not yet having buckled up he threw himself across Nickel’s lap, clung to him fiercely and pushed his face into his stomach. “Thank you!” he yelled, his voice muffled by Nickel’s sweater. “Thank you, Master, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His back pressed against the steering wheel and set off the car horn. Outside, on the sidewalk, an older woman carrying a small lapdog jumped at the sudden blaring sound and scowled at him. 

Nickel gave her an embarrassed expression in return and mouthed an excuse through the window while he pulled Taven closer to stop the loud signal. 

Taven had a serious problem with impulse control, he thought, regardless of if he was angry or happy, scared or relieved. He shouldn’t let the slave act like this, but he didn’t have the heart to push Taven away. 

Nickel was touched at Taven’s uninhibited gratefulness. Yesterday he had doubted getting to stay with him had meant anything to the boy at all, but it seemed his problems in the classroom had little to do with it. Taven did want to remain with him, desperately so. 

Inevitably, guilt followed with this realization. 

Nickel told himself he would never use ‘the last resort’ on Taven again, not even this ‘milder’ version. It was too cruel. He felt stupid at how his suspicions that Taven was trying to manipulate him had bothered him so much. What did he care? Surely, he could manage to stay on top of a mere slave boy, without threatening to rip his whole world apart. 

He would be harder in the future, he promised himself, when the situation called for it, but no matter what the boy did, and what punishment would follow, Taven shouldn’t have to fear his master would abandon him.

For the first time Nickel was insecure about his methods. For someone like Taven, risking abandonment might actually be more harmful than physical pain.

He still intended to avoid corporal punishment as far as it was possible. Nickel wasn’t prepared to give up on his convictions. That life could be more complicated than he’d thought wasn’t a reason to. 

Nickel sighed deeply as he pulled Taven a little bit closer still, consolingly caressing his lean back, while the boy cried into his stomach as the stress from the last days abated. 

Jan had never spoken a truer word; he had his work cut out for him, all right.


	28. A Talk at Lunch

“So… Do we know each other?”

Roth kept looking through the magazines in the sidewalk newsstand downtown as if he didn’t realize someone was talking to him. 

James Swift wasn’t going to be ignored. He poked Roth’s upper arm with a provoking finger. “Hey, fucker, I’m talking to you! You’ve been following me, for the last two days at least. I figured you want something. Well, here I am. You’ve got something to say?”

Inside his head, Roth cursed hotly. The game was up, obviously. Nickel would be disappointed; his boss had been excited to hear he’d thought of another way.

Since his research from home had produced nothing, Roth had decided to employ a more traditional method. He’d told Nickel he would follow Swift and give his boss regular reports. For almost a week, he’d done exactly that. 

James Swift had turned out to be a man about his own age and size – which made him bigger than average – with close-cropped hair and neatly laced up combat boots. Apart from this, the man had no particular distinguishable features and just looked like your average Joe. Well, like your average South End Joe, anyway.

He never seemed to be doing anything out of the ordinary, either. Swift walked daily to a small convenience store close to his apartment building, where he bought cigarettes and beer, after which he often hung out on a street corner with a group of men he obviously knew. Roth hadn’t managed to come close enough to hear what Swift was talking with those men about, but he doubted they were planning a bank robbery. They only seemed to talk shit, and leered and whistled at any unfortunate by-passer who happened to be female, and weren’t under fourteen, or over fifty. 

Swift had left the South End two times during the week, taking the bus downtown. The first time he’d gone to a liquor store, supposedly to buy something stronger than beer, and the second time he’d visited a small flower shop. Roth had found this the most surprising, so far. Swift didn’t look like a guy who bought flowers, he had thought, watching the man walk back to the bus stop with a cheap bunch of yellow tulips. Though he supposed even South End thugs had sisters or moms, or the like, whose birthday it was, or something.

Roth had even parked outside Swift’s apartment building a few nights – using different cars – but, unfortunately, Swift hadn’t conveniently ventured out into the dark to commit a crime with Roth as a witness. Roth hadn’t expected he would, but it couldn’t hurt to give it try. Sometimes you got lucky. Swift _had_ had several nighttime visitors, though. Men, who Roth had seen enter the street door, and who later had reappeared in Swift’s lit up windows, but there was no telling what those visits were about. 

So far, following Swift had given him nothing to work on, and he hadn’t thought it would. Swift might very well be up to no good, but it could be weeks, even months, before Roth would witness anything of interest. He couldn’t keep following the man. Usually, you followed someone _after_ you knew there was something specific going on, but like this… It was a waste of time and surely Nickel would eventually understand this, as well. 

If it were up to him, Roth would have quit after his first research hadn’t produced anything, but Nickel had practically begged him to try again. Well, he had tried, and he would have tried a few more days, only to not feel like he hadn’t done enough for his friend, but… That bastard Swift had already found him out. 

Getting poked he finally turned to Swift and tried to look both insulted and confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, resisting an urge to poke the bastard back. “I’ve never seen you in my life.”

Swift retreated a step and smiled at him, which didn’t make the man look any less threatening. He would think twice about taking on this guy, Roth thought, even though he wasn’t exactly a small man himself, and could surely match Swift blow for blow if it would come to that. No, there was something else, which made the alarm bells go off. 

Roth pushed the feeling aside. He already knew this man didn’t hesitate to starve, maim and fuck little boys, and he was clearly biased by this knowledge. No wonder the hair on his arms stood up when the man grinned. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Roth stubbornly maintained. “I don’t know you.”

The smile died out. “Cut the crap! You think I’m stupid. What do you want? Who sent you? It’s Lawrence, ain’t it? Tell that fucking faggot bastard he got what he deserved. Tell him I can sniff out his fucking goons.” 

“I don’t know a Lawrence,” Roth said, giving Swift a genuine bemused look this time. Since he indeed was truthful about that, it seemed Swift actually believed him.

“Not Lawrence, eh? Okay, listen up, fucker! Whoever you are, whoever sent you, tell them…” 

Swift cut himself short and turned halfway around when a small figure showed up behind him. “Where the fuck was you? Learn to fucking keep up, you little shit!” he roared, and raised his hand in warning. 

Roth blinked. It was a slave, a young boy. Where had he come from? He hadn’t seen a boy with Swift until this very moment, and he’d followed the man most of the day. He shook the surprise and took the opportunity to slip away into the crowds of the busy downtown streets while Swift was distracted, but he felt increasingly bad as he walked on. 

Swift must have picked up the kid from someone in the same crowds only minutes before, without Roth noticing, but it was likely this was Swift’s property returned to him, not a slave Swift was borrowing or renting from someone, and he based this conviction on the boy obviously being ‘another Taven’. 

Not that the boy had looked very much like Taven at all, not really, this one had had dark hair and eyes, with a rosy little doll face, quite unlike Taven’s freckled cheeks and sharper features, but he’d been the same type; painfully young, delicately framed, and with the same freaky long hair. Swift had certain tastes it seemed. 

Roth felt worse and worse as he located his car and got in. There had been such utter terror in the boy’s eyes. What would Swift do to the poor sod? What had he already done to him…? 

This changed how he felt about the whole thing. 

It wasn’t that he was unsympathetic toward Taven, and his problems. Of course he wasn’t, even though the boy had bitten him, and kept looking at him as if he wouldn’t mind doing it again. However, Taven’s hell was over. He would be safe now in Nickel’s care. Seeking revenge on Swift for what he’d done to the redhead had seemed unnecessarily risky, and though Roth found himself unable to say no to Nickel, he hadn’t been fully onboard with these plans, not deep down. 

_That_ kid’s hell had just started, though, and no matter how Roth tried to, he couldn’t get those wide terrified eyes out of his mind. 

Yes, this changed everything.

\-----o0o-----

Roth leaned back in the chair, patted his stomach and gave Nickel a content grin. “If you keep inviting me over for lunch every other day like this, I’m going to have to take up jogging, or something,” he said.

Nickel only smiled in reply.

It had been a chilly morning, but the day had soon turned sunnier and warmer, and the slaves had set a table for them on a small patio at the back of the mansion. 

“This Head Cook of yours is worth her weight in gold,” Roth continued. “Damn, this was the best meat pie I’ve ever had. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Nickel was still chewing on the last bites of a vegetarian version of the same delicious meal Roth had just devoured. “I do know. I’m quite happy with my eating habits, thank you,” he said, smiling around his fork. 

Roth shook his head, grinning at his friend. He was a steak and hamburger kind of guy himself. “So,” he said, changing the subject. “Did things work out all right between Taven and the esteemed ‘Lord Can’t Keep His Hands To Himself’ then?”

Nickel had told him the whole story a while ago, and had mentioned he would take Taven to the lord to apologize. Roth couldn’t help it, he’d laughed silently to himself when Nickel had described over the phone how Taven had yelled at some haughty lord back at The Club. He understood it was a serious matter, but still… Some of those lords could sure do with some fucking truths thrown in their faces now and then. Well, a few days had already passed and Roth hadn’t had a chance to hear the conclusion of the whole affair. He was curious. 

His boss ignored his creative renaming of the offended party. “It could have gone better,” he said. “But I do think Taven did as well as he was able, and in the end, Jan was satisfied. The whole thing is embarrassing for him. He was willing to forgive Taven, if we pretended it had never happened.”

“I see,” Roth said, nodding. “A win-win for everybody, eh? _You_ still don’t look happy though.”

“Oh, I am,” Nickel said. “It’s something else that worries me.” Nickel silenced and seemed to think it over. “You know my methods, Roth,” he finally said. “You know how I don’t want to physically punish the slaves, and, well… I told Taven, if he didn’t do well apologizing, I would remove him from my service.”

Roth raised his eyebrows, and sat up straight in the chair in surprise. “You would have _sold_ him?” 

“No, of course not,” Nickel said. “I would have put him to work with the other slaves, and removed him from my personal service only. I hoped such a threat would make Taven try harder, and take things more seriously. I certainly didn’t actually intend to send him away, and I was counting on that he wouldn’t force me to.”

Roth frowned. He did understand Nickel’s reasoning, and he knew his boss sometimes used a similar threat on particularly troublesome slaves, of which Taven would be one. In fact, in this house, Taven would be the fucking king of troublesome slaves. To him it still sounded more as if Nickel had wanted to test Taven’s level of dependence.

“So,” Roth said. “Did he manage to show you he wanted to stay with you then?”

Nickel looked taken aback, and maybe a little bit offended, at Roth’s blunt interpretation of what he’d just said, but then he only sighed and didn’t deny it, after all.

“At first I doubted it meant something to him at all, but when I told him he’d done well enough, and I would let him stay with me, he broke down crying, in sheer gratitude.”

Roth nodded. No matter how the boy behaved on the surface, deep down, he would want to stay with Nickel, all right. Life with the young lord must be better than anything the slave had ever experienced before. He still didn’t get Nickel’s gloomy expression. “Aren’t you happy then?” he asked again. 

“I am,” Nickel agreed. “It’s just … It made me doubt myself, doubt my methods. I know Taven will probably do something bad again, eventually, and I will have to deal with it. Talking with him, or scolding him, won’t always help. Threaten with abandonment might, but that could be more damaging to him than to just beat him.”

Roth kept nodding. He understood Nickel’s brooding mood now. The young lord didn’t like wrestling with complicated questions, not when all possible options seemed equally bad.

“I don’t want to beat him,” Nickel finally stated, spelling out the dilemma clearly. 

Roth looked at his friend. He didn’t know how Nickel did it, but his boss always managed to make him feel he should help, somehow. “So, if he screws up this badly again, do you want me to do it?”

This time it was Nickel’s turn to sit up straight in surprise and stare at him. “You’d do that? You would beat him if I asked you to?”

“Well,” Roth said. “I wouldn’t do just anything to him. It’s not as if I’d take a fist to the kid, or cause him any lasting harm, but… If it’s only a spank, or something, you’re talking about… Don’t get me wrong, I certainly would prefer not to, but if you think it would be in his best interest, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it...”

Nickel gave him a sad smile. “Thanks for the offer, Roth. I know it came from the right place, but I should be able to handle him myself. I couldn’t ask that of you. Besides, I don’t think it would make things better. Taven is already scared of you.”

“He’s scared of me? What the fuck for? I’ve never done a thing to that kid. I didn’t even hurt him when he tried to make a meal out of my arm, for goodness sake.”

“Well,” Nickel said in an excusing tone. “You _are_ big and strong, with a South End accent.”

“What?” Roth exclaimed. “You say I’m like Swift?”

Nickel leaned back in his chair and raised both his hands in a placating gesture, smiling still. “Of course not, but in Taven’s eyes… He doesn’t know you, after all.”

“He should learn not to judge a book by its cover,” Roth muttered, miffed that he was, apparently, only thought of as some big mindless violent brute by a certain someone.

“Then show him how wrong he is,” Nickel said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Nickel started. “I do think you should both get to know each other better. You are my bodyguard, and my friend, and Taven is my personal slave. You will probably see him often in the future. It certainly would make me feel better if you didn’t dislike each other.”

“So, you want me to make friends with the kid?”

“It’s not how I would put it,” Nickel said. “He’s a slave after all, but I’d like you to at least get along. Wouldn’t it also make your job easier if he learned to trust you, at least somewhat? There will be many situations in the future; I’m sure, where you will join me out there in the capacity of a bodyguard, with Taven attending me. You would be protecting him as well then, by extension.”

Roth nodded. “I see your point,” he said. “It’s certainly much easier to protect a client if the client trusts you. I just don’t see how. Scared or not, I don’t think the kid likes me overly much, you know.”

“Well,” Nickel said. “Spend some time with him, without me, and he’ll soon understand nothing bad will happen to him in your care.”

“Spend some time? Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Take him with you on an errand, and have him assist you,” Nickel suggested, “or something similar, which seems natural, and not forced, and won’t frighten him.” 

“Oookay…” Roth jokingly rolled his eyes. “You let me know when you’ve found such a thing, Boss!” he teased. Roth leaned back in the chair, and sighed. Time to stop fooling around, he supposed. “Talking of Swift,” he said, changing the subject again. “I have some news, but they’re not good, I’m afraid.”

Nickel looked worried. “Go on!”

“I can’t follow Swift anymore, he found me out. He knows what I look like now.”

“Oh, but… How did that happen?”

“How did it happen?” Roth was embarrassed. Did Nickel think he was some kind of ‘super spy’, that he couldn’t make mistakes? “Well, Swift’s not as stupid as he looks, or he’s one paranoid fucker. I don’t know what I did to reveal myself, but apparently, he found me out already a few days ago. I think he didn’t let on right away, because he wanted to see what I would do, or hoped I would reveal which of his, I’m sure, numerous enemies, sent me. He confronted me downtown but luckily, I managed to slip away in the crowds before anything happened. He clearly doesn’t have any idea who I am though, which means it’s highly unlikely he knows you even exist, or that there’s a connection to Taven.” 

“Well, I suppose it would be for the best if it stays that way,” Nickel said, looking even more worried. “So, what do we do now?” 

“I don’t know. One part of me, which would be the rational, sane and logical part, thinks we should drop this whole thing. There _is_ something fishy about this guy. You’re right about that, Nickel; it’s not that. I’m convinced of it, too. He started babbling about some guy named ‘Lawrence’ and I’ll check it out, but… We can’t go to the police with a bunch of hunches, and I really don’t have anything on him. Another part of me, however… Nickel, he has another boy now.”

“A- another boy?” Nickel repeated. “What did he look like?”

“Well, a lot like Taven actually. I mean, they weren’t alike. This kid was a few years younger and had dark hair, but I think he was the same kind, a longhair exotic, right?” 

Nickel looked more than worried now. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised. I mean, of course a man like that would get himself a new boy. I just didn’t consider… didn’t want to think about… Oh, God, the poor thing. Did he look to be as mistreated?”

“I only saw him for a few seconds, I really can’t tell. Besides, he had clothes on, and I mean, Taven with clothes on… You can’t tell. It could be he’s still young enough that Swift treats him marginally better. He looked a bit more cowed than Taven is, as well, and not as provocative; know what I mean? Maybe Swift wouldn’t be as harsh on ‘the new boy’?” 

Roth wanted to tell Nickel how terrified the kid had looked, but couldn’t bring himself to. 

Nickel put a hand over his mouth as if he was afraid his lunch would come up again. “Isn’t there anything we can do, Roth? Isn’t there anything at all?”

“I don’t know, I… I’ll try to think of something, okay?”


	29. A chance Meeting at the Mall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will only be single chapters for a while now.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Big thanks to leaovo who drew three pieces of fanart for this story, which was both, cute, touching and funny. It totally made my day. :-) Big Hugs for those, leaovo, you captured Taven so well.
> 
> You can see them [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805)
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> I'm truly blessed with nice art, today! :-) Paxterhobber, also posted a really cute Taven drawing for me [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919). Check it out, and then check out her other stuff, as well, as she has some nice Teen Wolf fic up at her account! Big Hugs to you, too, Paxterhobber!
> 
> /Fran

A few days later, Roth drove out to the mansion again and knocked at the door to Nickel’s study. As usual his boss didn’t seem overly bothered by being interrupted doing the estate’s extensive paperwork, and invited him in with a smile. 

“Any news?” he asked.

Roth shook his head, it wasn’t why he’d come. “You know those faulty security cameras over at the east gate?” he said instead, going straight to the point. “The new equipment I ordered has finally arrived, and I thought I would go over to the store and get it.”

“Ah, yes, right,” Nickel said. “But… You didn’t need to come all the way out here first… Oh, you want money. Of course! Just a minute, I’ll write you a check…” 

Roth grinned at his boss as he started to pull out desk drawers, looking for his checkbook. “Nickel you’ve already paid, don’t you remember? I was just thinking about what you said, the other day, about spending time with the redhead. You want him to assist me on a legitimate errand. Well, if I go get the equipment myself, instead of having it delivered out here, there’ll be a lot of boxes to help carry to the car.”

Nickel brightened up. “Oh, it’s perfect, Roth. Good idea! I left him up in the classroom with an extra assignment, but he should be finished by now. I’ll go get him for you.” Nickel got up from his chair and went for the door, but he halted on the threshold and turned back to him. “You might want to sit down somewhere. Explaining this to him could take a few minutes.”

“No worries,” Roth answered. “Take your time! I don’t want the kid to freak out on me, or something. I’ll wait in the car. I parked at the front.”

\-----o0o-----

It did take a while – Roth looked at his watch when he finally saw Nickel emerge from the building with the boy – twenty-two minutes, to be exact. He supposed it could have been worse.

Nickel was leading the boy toward the car with an arm around his skinny shoulders. Was it to encourage him, or to stop him from running? Roth grinned to himself. It was probably mostly the latter, judging from Taven’s sulky expression. The slave looked about as friendly and accommodating as a thundercloud. 

Any possible warnings about misbehaving seemed still in full force, though. Taven got in the car at his master’s order, and sat back quietly in the passenger seat, buckling up as silently. 

Nickel reminded the boy to do what he was told and waved them off. 

Roth contemplated if he should try to small talk with the slave while they drove into the city, to, sort of, break the ice, but a sideways glance at his passenger told him it probably wouldn’t be of much use. Taven turned away from him, as far as the seatbelt allowed, and stubbornly stared out the window, holding his arms around him. His whole being radiated unease and wariness. 

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to keep in mind what Nickel had said. The kid was scared of him, so, maybe it wasn’t that he was being contrary and troublesome. 

When they reached the large shopping mall in the inner city where the tech store was located, some half hour later, none of them had uttered a single word. Roth parked at the back of the store, close to their loading ramp, and told Taven to stay put while he went inside to talk to someone. A few minutes later Taven obediently helped him carry the smaller boxes to the car, per his instructions, while Roth took care of the bigger ones. The boy still kept his distance, and didn’t say a word.

Roth had no idea what to say to the slave either, but he supposed this wasn’t what Nickel had had in mind when he’d asked him to spend time with the boy. Taven wouldn’t become more comfortable and less wary around him like this, would he? 

Instead of going back to the mansion, Roth followed a sudden impulse and drove around the large complex to park at the front of the mall.

“Ever been to a mall?” he asked as he turned off the car.

Taven watched him out of the corner of his eye and slowly shook his head.

Roth felt bad for Taven, and all other slaves, too. If you really thought about it, they lived in a strange society. Some ninety percent of the population would take going to the mall perfectly for granted, while a small minority was more or less deprived of so many parts of modern life. He thought of all the ‘normal’ teenagers who would hang out at the mall with their friends. Taven would have no concept of such a life whatsoever.

“Well, don’t you want to see what it’s like then?” he said.

Taven didn’t answer, but turned that wary look out the window instead, eyeing the large entry, and the people walking in and out the big glass doors, with suspicion. 

Roth ignored the seeming complete lack of interest, stepped out of the car, rounded it and opened Taven’s door. “Come on,” he tried. “Of course you want to see what it’s like. Well? Your master told you to obey me, didn’t he?” Roth reminded the boy when he still wasn’t moving. 

Taven reluctantly got out of the car then, and followed him toward the entry, as sulky as ever, his hands pushed deep down into his pants pockets. 

The boy stubbornly kept two steps behind him, slightly to the right, and it soon started to annoy Roth. He didn’t like the feeling of someone following him, and he couldn’t as easily keep an eye on the slave like this either. He halted and backed up, just before they were to go through the doors. “Hey, Taven, just keep at my side, will you? If I lose you around here, I’m pretty sure Nickel will put me in front a firing squad.” He grinned at the boy, but there wasn’t even a hint of a smile in reply, or any sort of recognition a joke had been made for that matter. 

Roth shook his head. He’d noticed the same thing before. Slaves didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, at least not in front free people. Maybe they had their own kind of joking. He had no idea. Taven didn’t hesitate to follow the order, though. For the moment, these crowds would probably intimidate him more than his master’s ‘brutish’ bodyguard did, Roth suspected.

He watched Taven as they walked across the ground floor. It didn’t take long before the boy forgot to stare sulkily at his feet and started to look about him instead, with ever widening eyes. 

At the center of the mall, there was a large square under a high domed ceiling, and below this wide arch, the mall’s main attraction – a roller coaster. 

Of course, it wasn’t one of those huge constructions of an open-air amusement park, but a considerably smaller version. It was still a popular feature. Taven’s jaw dropped when he saw it, and Roth had to discreetly steer him around the people they passed as the slave’s eyes were glued on the colorful cars going up, down, and around, a few happily screaming heads sticking up from them. Roth supposed he’d never seen one of those before, either.

Taven was still staring at the roller coaster in complete fascination when Roth told him to sit down on a bench in front a fountain. He obeyed without even looking where he sat. “Sorry, kid,” Roth said. “I’d pay to let you take a ride on that thing, but according to the sign over there, they won’t let a slave on it. I think I know how to make it up to you, though. You stay here, you hear. Don’t move an inch; I’ll be back in a minute.”

Roth had an older sister, Marita, who had brought two little rambunctious nephews, four and six years old, into his life. He had soon discovered there was one currency that almost always worked to sway the little lovable monsters from their sulky and contrary moods – sweets. 

Okay, Taven was seventeen and not four, and yeah of course, he understood he couldn’t compare Taven’s issues with the normal nature of an ordinary brought up little kid, but… He still thought it couldn’t hurt to try to bribe Taven into liking him more in this way, or at least hate him less. 

There was an ice cream parlor close to the roller coaster and Roth bought a large cup with three differently flavored scoops and brought it back to the bench. He took a seat beside Taven and held the cup under his nose. “I know Nickel,” he said. “He’s one of those health freaks, you know? Kind of obsessed with such things, if you ask me. He would never eat things like this himself, and I’d say the chance he’ll ever give it to _you_ is slim, at best, so, enjoy it while you can.” Roth leaned in and conspiratorially winked at the boy. “I won’t tell him if you don’t. Come on! Take it before it melts! You’ve had ice cream before, haven’t you?”

Roth could see how Taven fought to keep his distance, but his eyes betrayed him. He stared hungrily at the cup, and after further hesitation, finally snatched it out of his hand. Taven hunched over the ice cream as if he thought it was only some kind of cruel joke and that Roth would take it away from him again. 

“I… had it… once,” he managed around huge spoonfuls, which he speedily shoveled into his mouth with all the finesse of a starved dog. 

“What?” Roth grinned, hardly hearing a word the boy said. 

“Had it… once,” Taven repeated. “Just a spoon… Someone left… No one saw… It’s good… It tastes really, really good.” 

“Well, glad you like it then, but, as I said, don’t expect it any time soon again. Nickel dislikes sweets, so… Slow down, boy, no one’s gonna take it from you.” As much as the kid was obviously enjoying the ice-cold sweet substance, it couldn’t be good to shovel it in like that. Taven was wincing and grimacing in apparent pain around the spoonfuls, cursing under his breath.

Roth shook his head, but was happy about the progress. He supposed he should have demanded Taven thanked him properly for the cup, and eat it a little bit less sloppily, too, but he’d leave it to Nickel to work on the boy’s manners. For the time being, Roth was pleased enough the slave had taken something from his hands at all, and was even speaking with him, even if it was with his mouth full. 

However, the boy’s behavior turned considerably odder as he watched him. Taven, sort of, froze, stopped eating, and stared in front of him, mouth open. The plastic spoon fell out of his hand first and then he dropped the whole cup, the ice cream hitting the floor between his feet with a squelchy sound. Roth looked up, following Taven’s unblinking gaze – and there was James Swift, standing right in front of them. 

Fuck.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Swift said, grinning menacingly. “Long time no see, whore. What? You’re not happy to see your former master?”

Taven turned pale as a sheet, almost greenish even. Roth saw how his hand, that he still held up, as if he didn’t even realize he’d dropped the cup, was trembling violently.

Roth got up from the bench and stepped between them, facing Swift. “What do you want?” he demanded. 

“What do I want?” Swift gave him a look as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “What the fuck? It’s you who’s been following me around. What the hell do _you_ want?”

Roth didn’t answer. What was he to say to that? Inside he was cursing hotly. This was bad. Running into Swift just when he had Taven with him, what the fuck were the odds? 

Swift’s mean grin returned. “Well, I guess this explains it. So, no one sent you, eh? You bought the redhead. That’s it, eh? What do you know?” Swift snorted derisively, but looked bewildered at the same time. “I never thought anyone would actually _do_ that.” 

Of course, Swift would assume he was the boy’s owner, and that, at least, was a good thing. Roth wasn’t going to correct him on this particular point. He hoped Taven would keep his mouth shut about it, too. The poor boy still seemed to be in some kind of shock, though, at meeting his torturer so unexpectedly, and wasn’t making a sound behind him. 

“So? What if I did? What’s it to you?” 

Swift only shrugged his shoulders. “It’s nothing to me. I don’t fucking care where my discarded trash ends up. Seems to me the fact I used to own him means something to you, though. First, you buy this piece of shit, and then you follow me all over the South End. Coincidence? I think not. So, to repeat the big question here, in case you didn’t get it the first time, numbskull, what the fuck do you want?” 

Inside, Roth was seething with anger but getting in a fight with Swift, verbal or otherwise, would be about the stupidest thing he could do right now. It wouldn’t help their case in the least. “I have nothing to say to you,” he replied gravely and turned to pull a still frozen up Taven onto his feet. “Come on, Taven, we’re going home.”

Swift grinned widely. “Gave the dog a name, eh? You’re having fun with him? Yeah, he must be a real nice fuck to you, the way you’re spoiling that useless thing. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I guess. Sure, he screamed real nice when you hurt him, and all, but other than that, he must be the most worthless slave I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across, not to mention, the filthiest. The retarded fuck is so stupid I had to tattoo him, so he wouldn’t forget what a fucking piss-stinking little whore he is.”

Maybe something in that comment triggered Taven. “It… It- it ain’t gonna be there anymore,” he piped up behind Roth’s back. “He- he’s paying to get it off. I ain’t a whore anymore.” 

Swift burst out laughing. “What the fuck! What kind of weak ass owner lets slaves speak like that, and _you_, tattoo or no tattoo, you retarded little shitstain, you’ll never be anything else than a whore. You think your new ‘nice’ owner don’t think you are?” 

“I do _not_ think he’s a…” Roth started, not able to refrain from protesting. However, amazingly enough, Taven dared open his mouth again.

“It ain’t true,” Taven yelled, interrupting him. 

Roth was amazed at the redhead’s nerve. Taven literally pressed himself against his back and the boy’s hands even came up to hold onto his arm. The slave was clinging to him like a drowning person a buoy, and Roth could feel how he shook and trembled. Still, he went on.

“Master says I ain’t a whore, and- and he says you’ll pay. He’s gonna…”

What the flying fuck, Roth thought. What the hell did Taven think he was doing? 

Swift’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Oh, is that right? He’s gonna make me pay? You wanna make me pay? Wanna make something of it? Well, here I am! Come on, fucker, make me pay!”

“Now, look here, I don’t want any trouble…” Roth started, trying to save the situation, but Taven seemed hell bent on sabotaging his efforts.

“Master ain’t scared of you,” he yelled, shaking so bad now Roth thought he would fall to pieces any second. “He’s much stronger than you, and he can…”

“Will you _shut the fuck up_, already?” Roth hissed at the boy. 

He started to retreat, pushing Taven with him, but Swift followed. The man was red in the face with anger and his hands fisted at his side. Damn, Roth thought. He did not want to get in a fucking fistfight in the middle of the mall. They could be arrested. He might be injured, and if Taven was pulled into it and was hurt, too, then Nickel would freak out. Roth contemplated simply turning on his heels, grab Taven, and run like hell. It would be the smart thing to do, but, somehow, something inside of him wouldn’t let him. 

That’s when he saw two guards over Swift’s shoulder, nearing the scene with brisk steps. Someone close by must have heard them argue, thought it might get out of hand, and alerted security. Roth couldn’t say he wasn’t damn grateful they had. “Uh, we might wanna take this up again another time,” he said, urging Swift to look behind him.

The man looked suspicious to say the least, but cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and that was that. With a last murderous look at them both, Swift simply slipped away. 

Well, well, Roth thought, someone was even less eager to have the police called on him. 

Roth hadn’t done anything bad. He stayed to talk to the guards, assuring them nothing was going on. Taven, thankfully, stayed quiet this time, though he wouldn’t let go of his arm. The guards believed him, told him they wouldn’t call the police, and let him go on his merry ways. 

Only, Roth was far from merry. 

All the adrenaline that had built up at the threat of a fight now turned into anger with Taven instead. Roth tore his arm out of the boy’s weak hands and turned around with fury in his eyes. He had to bite the inside of his cheeks not to start yelling at the slave right then and there. Instead, he grabbed a hold of the base of Taven’s thick braid and pulled the boy along while he stomped out of the mall.

Ignoring his curses, wriggles and yelps at the harsh grip, Roth took Taven back to the car, unlocked it, and more or less threw the boy inside, slamming the door shut. Well inside himself, he couldn’t help it; he leaned over, bunched a fist in Taven’s shirt collar and roared at him. “Are you fucking nuts, slave? What the _hell_ did you think you were doing back there?”

Taven stared back at him in utter terror. “You- you can’t beat me,” he whined pitifully. “Master… master says…”

Roth let go of the boy. Yes, right, he couldn’t. He grabbed at the steering wheel to occupy his hands while he fought his anger. “You _obnoxious_ little…” he muttered. 

“Taven, let me explain something to you,” he finally managed. “Your master does want Swift to pay for what he did to you. I guess he hasn’t told you, but Nickel’s been asking me to try to find some shit on Swift, so we can have him sent to prison. Have you any idea how many hours I’ve spent researching that damn bastard, following him around, staking his apartment building out…? Your master already put that psycho vet out of business. You hear that, boy. He put that man out of business because of what he did to you, and I found him. We do this for you, Taven, to help you, do you understand this?” 

The slave only stared at him fearfully, not answering. Roth sighed. He didn’t want to be just ‘another Swift’ in the boy’s eyes, and he wasn’t going to hurt him, but he wanted Taven to understand why he was angry.

He let go of the steering wheel and turned to the boy. “Okay, so, maybe you don’t know, but you do damn well know what your master does for you otherwise. He gives you health care, an education; he’s getting that tattoo removed. Nickel feeds you and clothes you; you don’t have to work hard, he doesn’t beat you. 

“And what do you do? You’re being difficult, every chance you get. You treat Nickel with no fucking respect at all, and now you deliberately tried to get me into a fucking fight that could have put me in the fucking hospital, for fuck’s sake. You just have to be the most ungrateful little…” 

Roth realized he was working himself up again, and that he was raising his voice with every word. He tried to breathe his anger under control once more. 

“I wanna help you, Taven,” he continued, forcing himself calm. “I do, but why the hell should I, when you actually _want_ me to get hurt, for goodness sake. What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

Taven hung his head, staring at his feet, not saying a word. Yeah, Roth thought, _now_ he was shutting up! With an exasperated sigh, he started the car, and drove out into the streets. He supposed it was just as well the boy had nothing to say. Roth didn’t trust himself not to slap the kid, after all, if he dared open his mouth to say something cheeky now. 

Fantastic, he thought. Nickel had wanted him to make friends with the kid. Yeah, that had worked out just splendidly, hadn’t it? Their plans regarding Swift was working out wonderfully, too, weren’t they. What the hell was he going to tell Nickel now? 

A strange sound brought him out of his angry thoughts. He glanced at the boy. Was he crying? He cast another quick glance. Taven was trying to hide it, but there was no mistaking it, he was crying. Shit.

“Look, boy,” Roth said, trying to mitigate his earlier harsh words. “I get it, I do. Running into Swift, after all he did to you… It was a shock. I get it. I guess it isn’t strange you, kind of, lost it.”

Taven seemed to give up trying to hide anything anymore and openly sobbed into his hands now. “I’m sorry, Mr. Roth,” he wept. “I didn’t mean it like that. I ain't ungrateful and shit, I ain't. You- you’re so fucking big, I didn’t think you could get hurt. I- I just… I just wanted you to kill him. I just wanted you to fucking _kill_ him! I hate him!” Taven cried miserably. “I hate him so _fucking_ much. I couldn’t think of nothing else, and- and… I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” 

Roth didn’t know what to say. The boy _had_ deliberately tried to use him to get back at Swift, he’d just admitted as much, but he couldn’t be angry with Taven anymore. Completely crazy as the slave’s plan had been; Roth couldn’t say he didn’t understand him.”

He reached out and put an awkward hand on the weeping slave’s shoulder. “It’s all right, boy,” he said. “It’s all right.”


	30. Blowing Off Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a note to link to, paxterhobber, as she again made a cute sketch of Taven! :-) This time illustrating a scene in this chapter. Thanks so much, paxterhobber, this was adorable, and there is such great movement in this sketch!
> 
> You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/56050654#workskin)! 
> 
> /Fran

Taven swallowed hard when he heard steps outside his door and saw the handle turn.

As soon as they’d got back to the mansion, Mr. Roth had told him to go to his room and Taven had obeyed without a word, walking off with his head hanging.

He’d washed his face, kicked off his shoes and crawled into the corner of his bed, to wait for the inevitable. He knew the bodyguard would go straight to his master and tell him everything, the tell tale bastard. 

For a while, he’d been able to direct all his fears into being angry with the bodyguard, but now when his master was coming, this strategy fell through. 

Taven knew he’d fucked up badly. The large man’s words still rang in his ears. He was an ungrateful and obnoxious little fuck, and his master would think so, too. It definitely wouldn’t count in his favor, either, that it was such a short time ago he’d fucked up last. His master would think he’d learned nothing, or, as the bodyguard had pointed out, that he didn’t give a shit about what the man was doing for him. 

Did he? Did he actually give a shit? Taven wasn’t sure. Before he was taken here such a question would have been a hell of a lot easier to answer. 

His master stepped into his room and sat down at the bedside with a big sigh. Taven stayed where he was and refused to look up to meet the man’s eyes, confused by how bad he felt. 

A hand on his knee made him flinch, but it was such a gentle touch, and the voice that followed was, too. 

“Taven, are you all right?”

He looked up in sheer confusion at the concerned voice. The man’s dark eyebrows pulled together in worry, and he didn’t seem angry or disappointed at all. “Uh, yeah?” Taven said, unsure what his master meant. 

“Are you sure you’re all right? I’m so sorry you had to run into that- that… That _psycho_! It must have been awful for you.”

Taven felt weirdly embarrassed at the concern. “I’m fine. It was nothing, Master. Like…”

“It was, Taven,” his master interrupted him. “It was not ‘nothing’. Roth told me everything, and we understand. I know this was hard on you, and you don’t have to hide how you feel from me.”

“You know what I did, and you ain’t angry?” Taven said, highly suspicious.

“I recognize there’s a problem,” the man said. “I suppose I should be angry, but I can’t bring myself to.”

“Mr. Roth was angry as fuck,” Taven muttered. “I thought he was gonna slam me through the car window.” 

His master shook his head. “Roth would never do that, he’s not a violent man. He _was_ angry with you, but you can hardly blame him, can you?”

“I guess not,” Taven said. “I know I fucked up again,” he pleaded with his owner. “But I didn’t mean to, Master, I swear. I didn’t mean to say all that. It just sorta came out.”

“Yes,” his master said, with yet another worried sigh. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Look, there’s literally nothing bad I wouldn’t let you say to that awful man, if I could safely arrange it in private. I don’t really care _what_ you said, but your inability to hold your tongue in public is starting to worry me to a very high degree. You must try to understand this, boy. If you could only understand how important it is that you learn to control yourself among people, I’d be more lenient with you when it’s only the two of us.”

“I get it, Master,” Taven said, trying to convince the man before him. The utterly uncomfortable feeling of having let his owner down refused to go away. “I get it. I should shut up and all that, I’m just too fucking stupid to learn.”

The man shook his head. “It’s not about intelligence; it’s a question of self control. You don’t blurt things out because you’re stupid, you let your emotions run away with you, and don’t stop to think of the consequences. At least I hope so, boy, because I don’t want to consider you also might not care if other people are hurt by your actions.”

Taven gulped. There was no mistaking his master’s disapproval. It was clear the man wouldn’t only be angry with someone like that, but really, really dislike such a bad person, as well. He thought back to the party again, and how relieved he’d been his owner had directed his cold looks and venomous words at other people, and not at him. 

“That ain’t it!” he said. “That ain’t fucking it, Master. I ain’t like that, I swear.”

His master was still looking very serious. “I don’t want to believe you’d deliberately put Roth at risk, fully understanding what those risks were…”

“I didn’t!” he yelled, shaky and teary-eyed in his desperation. “I _didn’t_ understand. Mr. Roth is so fucking big and strong. What the hell could hurt him? He- he’s bigger than Swift even, and- and…”

To his surprise, there was a small smile on his master’s face. “I’m sure Roth will be flattered to hear you think he’s practically invincible,” he said. The man scooted closer, and put a hand at his neck. Gently he pulled Taven’s head to his chest, caressing his hair. “It’s all right, Taven, I believe you. I won’t punish you for this, also, Roth asked me not to. We just have to work harder on how you can control yourself better.”

Taven couldn’t resist the comfort and leaned into his master, relieved and bewildered at the same time. 

Had Mr. Roth really asked his master not to punish him?

\-----o0o-----

Roth curled up his forearm even though his muscles had started to scream in protest at handling the heavy dumbbell. He stared determinedly at the bulging veins and forced himself to repeat the movement three more times before he changed hands.

He wouldn’t say he was either jealous, or especially impressed, by his boss’ considerable wealth. Roth liked to think that if Nickel and he had met under other circumstances, where his boss might have been just an ordinary low-income blue-collar guy, they would have still become friends. However, there _was_ one thing in this big monstrosity of a house he was still kind of envious about – the large well equipped gym Nickel had had built in the basement below his private quarters in the west wing. 

Nickel had given Roth free access to the gym early on, when he learned his new bodyguard liked to keep in shape, and it was mostly in here a friendship had developed. Even though they weren’t doing much of the same kind of workout – Nickel mostly did his ‘kung fu stuff’, and Roth enjoyed lifting weights – it was still something they had in common. 

At first, it had seemed the only thing they had in common, and Roth hadn’t at all meant to spend any of his free time with his new employer. However, he hadn’t been able to resist the luxurious space the young lord had tempted him with. He soon found himself working out regularly together with his boss, and, eventually, they had started talking. Roth learned that rather than a stuck up snob, or an insufferable spoiled pretty boy, his boss was a nice, soft-spoken, sensitive and intelligent young man, who was maybe a bit lonely. 

Okay, Roth thought, grinning to himself, changing hands again. Nickel _was_ a ‘pretty boy’ though, and yeah, maybe he was a bit spoiled, too, or rather, sheltered, but he wasn’t an asshole, and that did make all the difference. The young lord was simply a decent regular guy who couldn’t help the way he’d been brought up. By all means, his boss _could_ be as proud and stubborn as the most stereotypical aristocrat, but he wasn’t above listening to a commoner, such as Roth. They would never have become friends – greatest gym ever be damned – if Roth didn’t believe Nickel genuinely respected him. 

Well, as much as Roth enjoyed working out together with Nickel, he also often let himself into the gym when he knew his boss _wouldn’t_ be here. A gym was his favorite place to think things through, to refocus, and relieve stress and anger, and he did these things best when he was by himself.

After what had happened earlier today, in the mall, Roth had both things to think through, and anger to relieve. It wasn’t that he was still crossed with the redhead. The kid didn’t think farther than his freckled nose reached and could sure be annoying as hell, but… No, the anger Roth was working out in his boss’ gym was aimed squarely at Swift. The things the fucking bastard had said about the kid… He was fuming at the mere thought. Yeah, Roth needed an outlet tonight, and he’d made sure to go to the gym at an hour when his boss never used it. 

Well, _normally_ never used it.

In spite of the hour, the door opened and Nickel stepped inside, but even more out of the ordinary… He’d brought Taven with him. 

His boss lit up when he saw him. “Oh, you’re still around,” he said. “I thought you left after you unpacked the cameras.”

Roth couldn’t help it, he was annoyed at the unexpected interruption, but it wasn’t as if he could ask Nickel to leave his own gym. “Yeah, I meant to go home, but then I thought, why not go an extra round in here,” he answered. “I would have asked you to join me, but I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed at this hour.” 

Nickel nodded, unquestioningly accepting his makeshift excuse. He turned back to Taven, who was still lingering just inside the door, looking about the large space with suspicion, noticeably avoiding acknowledging Roth’s presence in the room.

“Come on, Taven,” Nickel said, coaxing the slave farther inside. “There’s nothing dangerous in here, it’s only a gym. It’ll be fun, you’ll see!” He took the boy by the hand.

Roth put the dumbbell away and sank down on a nearby bench to watch. This could be interesting, after all. What was Nickel up to?

Nickel brought the boy down the room where a heavy punching bag was hanging under the ceiling from a thick chain. 

“What’s that?” Taven said, looking as sulky as ever.

So far, the boy didn’t seem convinced by the promised fun, Roth noted.

“It’s a punching bag,” Nickel explained. “It’s filled with sand. Hit it!”

Taven didn’t move a finger. “Uh, why?”

“Because that’s what you’re supposed to do with it,” Nickel patiently went on. “Try it! Make a fist, and give it a good hit.”

Taven gave Nickel a look as if he thought his owner was nuts, but he did what his master wanted. He made a fist and drove his knuckles into the bag. 

“Fuck!” Taven cursed, grimacing and shaking his hand. “That ain’t sand in that thing, Master,” he complained. “That’s gotta be fucking bricks, or something.”

Nickel smiled widely and Roth tried to keep from laughing.

“Sand is harder than one might think,” Nickel said. “You’re not doing it right. I’ll show you. We’ll wrap your hands, and then you can hit this bag to your heart’s content.”

Roth watched Nickel prepare the boy and then trying to teach him the right technique. He shook his head at the whole thing. Taven seemed less than enthusiastic, to put it mildly. It seemed a struggle only to make him try. The slave cursed and swore at every failed blow, and at one point, he gave up and simply turned and walked away. 

To Roth’s surprise, Nickel ignored all this acting out. He walked after the boy, took him by the arm, not saying a word, and brought him back to the punching bag. Without as much as raising his voice, he ordered Taven to try again. 

There was a sort of desperation, mixed with fury, in the slave’s demeanor at the order. Roth couldn’t tell if Taven wished he could hit his master instead of the heavy bag, or if he just wanted to sit down and cry. However, at Nickel’s demanding stare, Taven obeyed and tried again.

Roth was impressed with Nickel’s patience, and it seemed to work, too. Eventually, Taven got the hang of it. “Good!” Nickel praised the boy. “Very good! That’s how you do it correctly. Can you feel the difference?”

Taven only muttered something in reply which Roth couldn’t hear, but at least he’d stopped cursing aloud. 

“I think we have time to teach you one more thing tonight,” Nickel said. “Let’s try a kick next.”

“Uh?” Taven said.

“Yes,” his master confirmed. “Give it a good kick!”

Again, Taven looked like he thought his master just might have a screw loose, but he did as he was told. He stuck his right leg out and kicked the bottom of the bag lightly with his naked toes. 

This time Roth had to bite his cheeks not to laugh aloud. 

Nickel sighed and shook his head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Wait, I’ll show you.” 

He stepped back, got into position, and the second after his leg launched out with reptile speed in a round kick that made the heavy bag shake and sway on impact. 

Roth had seen Nickel do stuff like that a million times, but it was obvious it was the first time Taven saw it. 

The boy stared, his jaw dropping. “I- I can’t do that.” he finally managed. 

“No,” Nickel agreed. “Not right away, but if you practiced enough, maybe, in time, you could.”

Taven scowled at his master and shook his head stubbornly. “Ain’t gonna matter how much I practice. I ain’t like you, Master; I’m just fucking skin and bones. I can’t do stuff like that, I’m too weak.” 

Roth raised an eyebrow. He had to admit the boy had balls. He doubted any other slave in this house would ever dare trying to ‘talk sense’ into Nickel. He grinned. 

His boss was weirdly tolerant of this argumentative attitude, too. “It’s not only about size, or muscles,” Nickel explained. “It’s mostly technique. Besides, if you think you’re too weak… Well, if you’d exercise more, you’d eventually become stronger, wouldn’t you?”

Taven didn’t let up on his scowl. “It’s gonna take forever.”

“If you don’t even try, it’s certainly not going to happen at all,” Nickel countered. “Kick it again!”

The boy sighed, but obeyed, trying to mimic what he’d just seen his master do.

“Good!” Nickel said, obviously praising the effort and not the execution. “Now you’re trying. Come here, I’ll show you again.”

Roth returned to his own routine, but his attention was divided, watching Nickel training the boy. They went on for quite a while, Nickel using a mix of patient persuasion, encouragement, and a bit of provocation, to keep Taven going. At some point, the slave stopped complaining and giving his owner weird looks. Nickel slowly retreated from the boy then, who didn’t even seem to notice. In fact, Taven seemed to become more and more engulfed in the whole thing. He kicked and hit the punching bag in dogged determination now, all on his own accord. Before long sweat was pouring down the boy’s face, and the long braid bounced on his back. 

Nickel walked over to Roth’s side of the room. “Well, what do you say about that?” he asked in a low voice, keeping a proud eye on Taven. 

Roth got up from the piece of equipment he was currently using and wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel he kept in reach. “What do I say?” he whispered back. “I say you’re nuts, Nickel. You’re teaching the kid martial arts now. Why don’t you give him a few shooting lessons, too, while you’re at it?” 

He wasn’t really joking, but Nickel only laughed at his words. 

“Oh, I’m not teaching him ‘martial arts’. This is only the most basic of techniques. He won’t use it against someone. It’s only to give him some kind of outlet.” Nickel took his eyes away from Taven and turned to him. “There’s so much anger in this boy. I thought if I gave him some means to safely blow off steam down here, he won’t keep ‘blowing up’ among people.” 

Roth nodded, it made sense, he supposed. It was true for himself, after all, why wouldn’t it be true for Taven, as well. 

“Besides,” Nickel continued. “I think he needs some way to deal with his past on the whole.”

“You think this compensates for what that bastard did to him? Getting to punch a bag, instead of Swift…?” Roth was considerably more skeptical now. 

Nickel shook his head. “No, of course not, but it might help if he becomes more bodily aware. I mean, look at him!” Nickel’s eyes were full of tenderness as he watched the boy. “He’s about as well-balanced as a newborn calf, all gangly and wobbly. There’s no efficiency, no economy, in his movements, only skinny arms and legs flailing about. There’s no connection between mind and body, no harmony… If you give your body some stability, some strength, the mind is likely to follow. Do you know what I mean?” 

“Maybe…” Roth replied cautiously. When it came to working out Nickel had a tendency to go all deep and philosophical, and shit, which was a discussion he was eager to nip in the bud. He really wasn’t interested in any soul-searching with his weight lifting, and didn’t inadvertently want to encourage a lengthy lecture in ‘body-soul connections’ or other similar and equally useless concepts. 

Nickel turned his head back to give him a teasing smile, showing he understood very well what Roth feared. “Don’t worry.” His boss grinned and winked at him. “You, I have given up on, a long time ago. Well, I didn’t bring Taven here to teach him how to fight. I just want him to be stronger and fitter. Daily walks in the gardens only isn’t enough, and, yes, I do think if he can be more in control of his body, be more balanced, then he can more easily learn how to control himself on the whole. This kind of training is ideal.”

Roth nodded. He guessed he couldn’t argue, but he still thought it was nuts to teach a slave how to better punch something. Taven was really letting the bag have it, even though he looked like he would collapse from exhaustion any second. Roth shook his head.

Making that twig of a boy healthier overall made considerably more sense to Roth, though. “Talking about his health,” he said, thinking back on their time at the mall. “Did you have the kid’s teeth checked out?”

Nickel looked surprised at the sudden change of topic. “His teeth? Well, actually, I’ve been meaning to, but I never got around to it. There’s been so much lately, it completely slipped my mind. Why?”

“Because,” Roth said. “I think the redhead has one hell of a nasty toothache.”


	31. There are More Things Wrong with Taven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm truly blessed with cute fanart! :-) Paxterhobber made another sketch of Taven, capturing his nature quite perfectly! :-D Thanks so much, paxterhobber, you're spoiling me with these!
> 
> You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/56240104)! 
> 
> /Fran

Nickel had already called several dentist’s offices when finally, at his inquiry, a puzzled-sounding receptionist described the dentist he worked for as a fifty-five year old woman of slight stature. He hurried to make an appointment. 

The things he did for Taven, Nickel thought with a sigh, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair. Not a small amount of dentists in the city was right now thinking a crazy person had called them, demanding to know what they looked like. Well, it wasn’t as if he would ever have to meet them. Except the one who had met his requirements, of course, but this slight embarrassment was the price he would have to pay to make Taven’s first visit to the dentist’s as easy as he was able to. 

Nickel thought he might have figured out one of Taven’s triggers, and it went as follows – big men scared him. 

Of course, he realized it wasn’t that simple, and that there would be considerably more complexity to the situation. However, to himself, Nickel maintained there must still be _something_ to his theory, no matter how simplistic. 

He’d watched Taven taking walks outside, through his bedroom window, and had seen the boy hunch in on himself and make a big circle around the Head Gardener, who was a rather large and heavyset man even in his late sixties. Yet, he didn’t seem equally wary of the house slaves – who were mostly girls and women – even though it would be to severely misrepresent the situation to say he was in any way friendly with them. The boy was also continually suspicious of Roth, while he’d seemed to take to Dr. Cordeaux surprisingly fast. 

Nickel also had to admit his own person might further confirm his analysis. Taven might still not fully trust him, but he didn’t seem to radiate the same kind of wariness around him, as he did Roth, even though Nickel would have vastly more opportunity, and power, to hurt the boy. Nickel suspected this was in part because he was rather on the small side himself. He was taller than Taven, of course, but Nickel wasn’t towering over the boy, the way Roth did over them both.

He had told himself, he simply had to find the dentist who would be the least likely to trigger the slave. 

What would remind least of Swift, after all, than a small middle-aged woman.

\-----o0o-----

Driving into the city, Nickel wasn’t sure who was the most nervous, Taven or himself. Nickel had told the boy where they were going, of course, but maybe he hadn’t explained it well enough.

It was a silly weakness in a grown man, but Nickel had to admit he was far from a fan of going to the dentist’s himself. There was something about the chemical smells, the instruments, about lying on your back with someone hovering over you, not to mention the sound of the drill, which made Nickel shudder. Earlier this morning he’d been reluctant to let his own discomfort rub off on the boy, and had spared Taven the details. 

Oh, it would surely be all right. He’d talked to the dentist over the phone and had explained the need to be gentle with Taven. She had understood. 

He turned his eyes away from the road to glance at Taven. The boy seemed fairly calm and together. Surely, he didn’t need to talk about needles, drills, and chilling bolts of pain shooting through your head, and… No, Nickel wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. 

Seated in the waiting room, Taven still seemed only moderately uncomfortable. Maybe he’d actually trusted his master this morning when Nickel had told him everything would be all right. If that was the case, then things went wrong, as soon as the dental assistant called out his name, and they stepped into the exam room.

The dentist was definitely _not_ a middle-aged, small-framed woman. It was a tall, portly man, and his voice was loud and sharp as he crossed the room in a few wide steps to greet them and give Nickel’s hand a boisterous shake. 

Nickel was too surprised to return the greeting, and rather rudely pulled his hand out of the dentist’s grip to check on Taven. The slave stared at the big man and looked about the exam room with ever widening eyes. He was pale as a sheet. 

Before Nickel had a chance to react, Taven turned on his heels, and ran.

For too many seconds Nickel stupidly hesitated between going after Taven, or give the perplexed dentist some kind of explanation or excuse, but then he snapped out of it, ignored the other man, and ran out of the room, too.

Cursing at the lost time, Nickel could only note how surprisingly quick on his feet the slave was when he wanted to. Taven was nowhere to be seen in the waiting room, or in the corridor. His heart beating hard in worry Nickel walked over to the foyer and asked the receptionist if he’d seen the boy. The young man pointed to the entry door.

With a sinking feeling, Nickel rushed outside. Downtown, Taven could easily disappear among the crowds in the busy streets, and that wouldn’t be good at all. Slaves weren’t normally allowed to walk about unsupervised beyond their owners’ property. However, if an owner needed a slave to do errands away from home, they could apply to have a slave pass issued for a limited area. 

Most slaves at the Wren Mansion didn’t have such a pass, since they would never leave the grounds on their own, but his father had had a few issued for practical reasons. Bruno, his chauffeur, had one, naturally. The Head Cook had one, too, along with a few of the older maids, so they could take a truck into the city each week to buy food and other supplies, as had the Head Gardener. However, applying for a slave pass for Taven had never crossed Nickel’s mind. Taven wasn’t the kind of slave who was expected to do errands outside the house on his own, and them going somewhere, why would Taven ever leave his side? It was, of course, simply unthinkable.

Well, the boy _had_ left his side, and if the police found a slave without a pass, or outside the area issued to a pass, they might consider them a runaway, and apprehend them. If they apprehended Taven, Nickel doubted he would ever see the boy again. 

There was no end to Nickel’s relief when he spotted Taven only a few yards farther down the street. The boy was pacing the sidewalk, hugging himself in apparent distress, but, thank God, hadn’t run blindly into the streets. Slowly, Nickel walked over, wary of startling him. 

“Taven,” he said softly. “What are you doing out here?”

“I… I don’t know,” Taven said, looking about him, as if he’d just woken up from sleepwalking and didn’t know where he was, but then his eyes narrowed and his whole face contorted in hurt anger. “You… You lied to me, Master,” he yelled. “You fucking _lied_ to me. That- that ain’t a ‘nice old woman’.” He pointed accusingly toward the dentist’s office. 

“I didn’t lie to you,” Nickel said. “I swear I didn’t. I’m as surprised as you are, and have no idea what happened.”

Taven didn’t let up on the angry expression, and eyed him with obvious suspicion. 

Nickel reached out a hand, but didn’t touch him. “Come with me,” he ordered mildly. “It’s not safe for you out here on your own. Come back with me, and we’ll find out what went wrong. I promise; I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Taven hesitated still, but finally he took his master’s outstretched hand, and followed him inside. 

Back in the waiting room, Nickel couldn’t help becoming angry, after all. He grabbed Taven by his upper arms and forcefully sat him down on a chair, leaning over him. “Now, you listen to me, slave,” he said. “Don’t you ever run away from me again! Ever! Do I make myself clear? We avoid using them, but there are chains at the house, and if you ever do anything like this again, I will use them. Do you understand?” 

Taven stared at him with wide eyes. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t running, Master,” he said. “I was just- just…”

“Quiet!” Nickel demanded. He knew Taven hadn’t actually tried to run away, but intent wasn’t important here. “I asked if I made myself clear.” He squeezed Taven’s arms hard for emphasis.

Taven’s gaze dropped. “Yes, Master,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he added, clearly unhappy.

Nickel sighed and exchanged the grip for a consoling rub of his shoulders instead. “It’s for your own good, Taven,” he said. “Now, wait here, and I’ll find out what’s going on.”

He returned only a few minutes later to explain. It was just one of those things. The dentist he’d made an appointment with had simply called in sick less than an hour before they came in, with a sudden and bad case of the stomach flu, and a colleague had agreed to stand in on a short notice. 

“She got sick?” Taven said, looking suspicious still.

Nickel nodded. “This man was nice enough to stand in. If we leave now, he would have come in for nothing. We need to have your teeth examined, and he promised to be careful. Let’s go inside again.” 

Taven looked at him as if he tried to search his mind for possible lies and deceptions, but then he put on a brave face, and shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, Master.”

This effort at bravery didn’t last long, and the dentist – who Nickel had quickly briefed about the nature of the situation and who had promised to go easy on Taven – had trouble keeping it up, as well. Nickel was taking minutes, standing beside the chair with the boy, trying to convince him he’d be just fine climbing on it. Taven hesitated and fretted, while the dentist sighed behind them in irritation and demonstratively tapped his foot. 

“Excuse me, Sir,” he finally said. “I’m afraid we really don’t have all day, there _are_ other appointments.”

Nickel was no less irritated. He was in quite a bit of stress about the whole thing himself, and the man’s impatience didn’t help. He thought he would panic, too, if someone forced him into a dentist’s chair, and he didn’t want to do that to Taven. Feeling the dentist’s demanding stare at their necks, Nickel still pushed the boy to comply, and finally had him sit down and lean back. 

He warily stepped aside and let the dentist approach.

It was obvious to Nickel that Taven was far from comfortable with the situation. The boy held on to the armrests with a white-knuckled grip as the dentist slowly lowered the chair. His eyelids twitched at the sharp overhead light, and his chest heaved. When the dentist picked up an instrument, leaned over and told him to open his mouth, Taven freaked out.

He hysterically yelled and flailed, trying to get away from the dentist, and rolled out of the chair, kicking over a metal tray in the process. Taven crashed to the floor while dental instruments flew all over, dropping around the chair with a deafening sound. He scrambled across the room on all fours to press himself into a corner, staring at them like a wild animal.

Nickel was too late to stop any of it, and could only dash across the room himself to try to coax Taven out of the corner.

“Why, you little…” the dentist yelled behind them, trying to gather his scattered instruments. “What in the world is wrong with you, boy?” he continued, shaking the retrieved dentistry tools at them in anger. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Do I have to strap you to the chair? Well? Get back here!”

If Taven hadn’t gone into full ‘freak out mode’ before, he certainly did at these words. He threw himself at Nickel, and held on to his legs for dear life. “Please, Master,” he yelled in complete desperation. “Don’t let them tie me down. Please, Master. _Please_!”

Nickel looked back at the dentist over his shoulder while he struggled with Taven’s frantic tugging on his pants. “Please don’t say such things,” he asked. “Can’t you see how scared he is?”

The dentist rolled his eyes. “For goodness sake, boy, I didn’t mean it,” he said. “The chair doesn’t have straps. Come back here and see for yourself.” 

Taven wasn’t calmed so easily. “I ain’t going back in that fucking chair,” he yelled. “Please, don’t make me. _Please_!” 

The dentist sighed deeply. “This was my day off,” he muttered under his breath. “All right, I can see he’s scared, but, really… If my slave had behaved like that, I would have… I’m sorry, Sir, but exactly what are you expecting me to do here? You can’t even make him stay in the chair.” 

Nickel pulled Taven to his feet and let the boy cling to him, but he was deeply embarrassed. “I do apologize,” he said. “I’ll pay double for your troubles.”

The dentist only shook his head. “Let’s get this situation under control,” he said, ignoring Nickel’s offer. “Listen, slave,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to have a look at your teeth. I promise; I won’t do anything else.”

Taven still clung to him, shaking all over. 

The large man tried again. “How about you don’t have to go back in the chair at all? Hold on to your master, if it makes you feel safer, and just step over here into the light, so that I can see better. You open your mouth, and I will have a quick look only. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Is a proper examination possible like this?” Nickel asked.

“Well, of course not, Sir,” the dentist retorted. “There would be nothing proper about it, but I might at least get an idea of the condition of his mouth. As long as you’re here, and since you’ll still pay for it, I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

Under these conditions, Taven finally complied. They moved into the light, Taven not letting go of him for a second, and the dentist leaned over them both to look into the boy’s opened mouth, pushing at his lips.

“Goodness gracious, what a mess,” the dentist said. He retreated, giving Nickel a stern look. “This is simply an awful mouth, Sir,” he said further, not even trying to hide the angry criticism in his voice. “How could you let it go this far?”

Nickel was taken aback. Was it that bad? 

“Really,” the man went on, not giving him a chance to reply. “A man with your means… You ask me not to hurt him. Well, I’ll have you know this kind of neglect will most certainly cause him as good as constant pain. What on earth do you feed him? Does he live off candy bars and soda only? Now, I’ve seen some spoiled pets in my life, but…”

Nickel was immediately angry at the accusations and intended to let the dentist know it, as well, but Taven was quicker.

“You- you can’t fucking say that to my master,” Taven yelled. “It ain’t his damn fault.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows. Had Taven just defended him? It was with some effort he ignored the warm feeling that started to spread throughout his chest. No matter what, Taven couldn’t speak like this to free people. “Be quiet, boy,” he said. “I can speak for myself.”

“I know how this must look,” Nickel said, turning to the dentist. “But this isn’t my doing. I have just recently bought him, and it was his last owner who mistreated him like this. It is on me, though, I’m afraid; that I haven’t understood sooner that it was this bad. I’m most certainly _not_ letting my slaves have sweets, or soda, or anything of the sort. I don’t make exceptions for a- a pet. I’ve seen to it from the first day there’s been a toothbrush in his room, as well, and…” 

Struck by a sudden suspicion, Nickel cut his defense speech short and turned to Taven. “You _are_ using the toothbrush I gave you, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, Master,” Taven said. “I do. Uh… Sometimes.” 

“_Sometimes_?” Nickel repeated. “Taven! You have to brush your teeth at least two times a day. At _least_!”

Taven stared at him in complete cluelessness. “Really? _Every_ day?”

Nickel moaned. It had never occurred to him he would have needed to teach the boy such an utterly basic part of your personal hygiene. “Oh, my God!” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“I see,” the dentist said. “I think I have a grasp of the situation. Sir, why don’t you take the boy out to the waiting room, and come back to have a talk with me.” 

Taven sure didn’t seem to mind his master taking him out of the exam room, but he followed with the same clueless look, as if he still couldn’t understand what he’d said to make his master sigh so deeply in exasperation. Nickel would have to talk to him later.

There were a couple of regular chairs in the exam room, as well, and, upon his return, the dentist asked him to sit down for a talk. “Well,” he started. “I can already tell you this doesn’t look good. His gums are infected, there’s caries, there’s a buildup of tartar. Several teeth are loose… This is a mouth in decay, Sir.” 

Nickel leaned over and rubbed at his temples. There were just so many things wrong with Taven, so many things… Again, he felt overwhelmed by the responsibility. Instinctively he wanted to push it all away, but then, as always, compassion took over. “Surely you can do something about it?” he asked. 

“Of course,” the dentist said. “We can do a lot of things; it’s mainly a question of money. Sir, how much are you willing to put in this slave?”

“I’d pay anything,” Nickel blurted out. “I mean… I’d pay for whatever treatment is necessary.”

“Glad to hear it, Sir, since I’m afraid even the barest necessity will cost a small fortune in this case.”

Nickel couldn’t help how his eyes twitched, if his father found out about this... 

To Nickel, money was a mean, with which you eased the path before you in life, and got what you needed and wanted, not an end in itself. He wasn’t careless or wasteful – Nickel knew money indeed did not grow on trees – but wealth didn’t hold any particular importance to him either. 

His father saw things differently and often told his son he thought he was indeed _both_ careless and wasteful. This would make him angry. Buying a slave who would cost them so much to ‘fix up’, was exactly what his father would call ‘careless’. There would be lectures, and endless disapproving frowns… 

“He’s in pain?” he asked.

Nickel felt awful he hadn’t understood sooner how bad it was. If Taven had a toothache, he hadn’t told him, and it was sad the boy so rarely, or ever, smiled. Nickel had never noticed something was wrong. However, it was only excuses. Dr. Cordeaux _had_ told him to see a dentist, and Nickel should have realized in either case it would be necessary. 

“Believe me, Sir; he is.” the dentist confirmed. 

In Nickel’s mind, this settled it. “Then I’ll pay a small fortune,” he said. 

The dentist smiled and nodded. “It’s only a question of how then, Sir.”

“How?” Nickel didn’t understand.

“Well, this will demand more than a few visits, and considering how he behaved here today… I can’t see how we could even get started, unless we really do strap him to the chair.”

Nickel’s eyes widened. “We can’t… I can’t do that to him. I’d rather not physically force him. His former masters abused the boy and he’s… He’s fragile, and barely trusts me as it is.”

The dentist nodded. “It isn’t a solution, I agree. Your boy is hardly alone in finding a visit here frightening. We can offer earphones with soothing music, laughing gas, even hypnosis, but to be honest I don’t think any of those methods would work with him. He would still have to be willing and motivated, and he doesn’t seem to be either.” 

Nickel realized the truth of this. “Oh God,” he moaned. “What on earth am I to do?”

“Don’t despair, Sir,” the dentist said. “The best thing to do in a case like this is to simply anesthetize him. It will be much more expensive, and we would have to arrange it with the city hospital, but it can be done.”

“Anesthetize him?”

“Yes. If we put him under for the treatment, he won’t be aware to be scared. We won’t have to use any kind of physical force, which might traumatize him further, or risk another scene. If he’s relatively healthy, we can safely keep him under for hours, and be able to do much more work on his mouth than at a regular visit here. We’ll give him a healthy mouth status in no time, and a handsome smile, too. He’ll happily sleep through it all.”

Nickel smiled in sheer relief. “I’ll pay the extra money,” he said. “Please arrange it with the hospital as soon as possible.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel took Taven out to the car and went back inside to pay for the visit, but while he finished his business with the receptionist, the dentist returned and asked to speak with him privately once again.

Puzzled, Nickel followed the man into an unoccupied exam room nearby, waiting inside the door, while the dentist paced the floor, and seemed to search for the right words. 

“Sir,” he finally said. “I think you deserve to know that at one point back there I seriously considered contacting the authorities about your slave.”

Nickel turned cold all over. “I… He- he was only scared,” he tried. ” He isn’t normally this bad. I _can_ control him.”

The dentist nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I understand, Sir, I do. It was obvious how frightened he was, but fear doesn’t explain everything I saw. Running off, talking back, yelling and cursing… If _my_ slave had behaved like that, the authorities would have taken him away from me a long time ago.”

Through his almost nauseating fear for Taven, Nickel felt his ears glow with embarrassment. He understood the subtext of the dentist’s words: ‘You entitled and privileged clan people always expect to get away with things common people can’t’. He had to admit, to a certain extent, it was true. The authorities _were_ often more lenient with the aristocracy. 

However, with a slave such as Taven… If they apprehended him, Taven would panic, and then there would be no chance Nickel could talk them into giving him the boy back, no matter the amount of blue blood running in his veins.

“Please,” Nickel said. “If you could find it in your heart to refrain from… He’s never been given a chance, never been properly trained, but he’s trying, and… When he’s stressed and frightened he forgets himself, but he’s of course not at all an actual threat to anyone, and…”

“I won’t, Sir.” The dentist interrupted, giving him an assuring smile. “I have obviously decided not to, or I wouldn’t be speaking about this with you. Of course, I wouldn’t have agreed to treat him if I still meant to report him. Laws and proprieties aside, I admit, reporting a slave doesn’t sit well with me, especially when it’s not much more than a kid. He seems so affectionate and loyal to you, as well, it would be a shame to... Well, _I_ won’t report him, but I fear eventually, _someone_ will. 

Affectionate and loyal? _Taven_? In spite of the utter seriousness of the matter, Nickel couldn’t help feeling pleasantly surprised at the dentist’s interpretation of Taven’s behavior around him. He had certainly never thought so himself. The mere possibility was thrilling, but he pushed the exciting feeling aside. The dentist was right, eventually someone would report Taven, and there had already been too many near misses. 

The dentist seemed to notice his dismay and worry, or had, at least, anticipated it. “I might be able to help, Sir,” he said. He reached into the pocket of his blue scrubs and brought forth a folded piece of paper. “I scribbled down this website for you. Check it out, and if you think it sounds reasonable, I’ll be glad to perform this procedure, as well. It’s a minor operation, and easily implemented while we put him under for the treatment we’ve already decided on. It won’t hurt him at all.”

Nickel received the paper, none the wiser by the dentist’s cryptic explanation. “What is it?” he asked.

“I have another appointment in just a few minutes, Sir, and simple as the actual operation is, it might still take some time to explain. Everything you need to know is on this website. Read it at your own leisure. I also wrote down my number, so please don’t hesitate to call when you have decided, or if you still have questions. Take the boy home, and don’t worry; I only want to help.”

\-----o0o-----

Back home, in the study, Nickel slammed the laptop shut the second he realized what the website was about – appalled. At first, he was angry with the dentist to have even suggested it. However, reminding himself of the risks, he forced himself to look it up again, and this time he read it through.

Conflicted and uneasy Nickel finally switched off the computer and went out into the gardens.

There really _was_ no denying that there had already been too many near misses when it came to Taven’s behavior. 

If Roth and he hadn’t gone to the slave market that particular morning, if Roth had not been kind enough to disregard that bite, if Roth wasn’t so loyal to him, if he had told Roth about the attempted attack… If Dr. Cordeaux wasn’t such a goodhearted old man and so true to his calling as a physician, if Jan Steinbock hadn’t been so embarrassed over his own faux pas, if the guards at the mall hadn’t readily listened to a colleague… If this darn dentist now obviously wasn’t so eager to go through with this very expensive treatment… 

Nickel shuddered. If there hadn't been all these ifs, Taven would have been reported to the authorities about ten times over by now. How many ifs would there still be in their fate? 

Not many, if any, he feared. 

He still argued against it with himself where he walked. Doing this wouldn’t teach Taven anything, he told himself. _His_ methods would, Nickel was sure, but, as he knew all too well, the boy was a slow learner. This society wouldn’t give him the time. 

The procedure would also only restrict one kind of acting out. Taven could still be troublesome in many other ways. However, it would effectively put a stop to the most common manifestation of the boy’s lack of self-control. If anything was likely to get Taven in trouble with the authorities, it was this particular inability. The procedure would take care of that, at least.

No, Nickel thought, he wouldn’t do it. He’d keep Taven hidden at the estate instead. Only, he knew it wouldn’t do in the end. Eventually he’d have to take the boy somewhere, as the visit to the dentist proved, and he could never know when Taven would lose it. 

Then the operation was too intrusive, he argued further. How could he violate the boy’s body in such a way, when it wasn’t a medical necessity? However, he knew it was a hypocritical excuse. Things were done to slaves’ bodies without their consent all the time, and when it came to physically non-damaging procedures, Nickel had sure never had a problem, with it, or even thought about it. All slaves were marked with a metal tag to their ears, after all, and some of the slaves in the house, of both sexes, were sterilized. This procedure was maybe more unusual, but it wouldn’t cause Taven pain, much like the ear tag, and wouldn’t even show on the outside. 

Nickel had to admit he was perhaps most worried about how the boy would take it. He feared Taven would hate him, but was that what should bother him the most. He had to be a master first, he reminded himself. It was a minor operation, and if it could help Taven control himself when most needed, so they wouldn’t take the boy from him, drag him into a soundproof concrete bunker at one of the state slave centers, and… 

He halted, turned on his heels, resolutely walked back to the house, and called the dentist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this chapter ends with a cliffhanger, of sorts… Sorry!
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> ETA:
> 
> ...and Paxterhobber did another drawing of Taven :-) This one a direct illustration to this chapter. Go see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/56320921)! Poor, poor Taven! :-(
> 
> /Fran


	32. The Bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be a tiny bit... angsty. Try not to hate me too much!
> 
> /Fran

Nickel held Taven’s hand while they prepared him. The boy squeezed his fingers so tightly his fingertips were tingling. He ignored the discomfort and kept whispering soothing words, caressing Taven’s pale cheek until the desperate grip lost its power. As he went under, Taven’s features, previously contorted with anxiety, smoothed out. It struck Nickel he’d never seen the boy looking this relaxed and peaceful before. 

They took him away, and Nickel had nothing else to do than return to the waiting room. 

He was impressed with how the boy had behaved today. Taven had quietly let himself be taken to the waiting hospital bed, and had made no trouble. 

Earlier, the dentist had explained the details to them both. It would take only two operations to complete the entire procedure. This afternoon they would properly examine his mouth, fill cavities, scrape off tartar and pull the teeth that weren’t worth saving. At the second stage, planned for a few weeks later, they would implant titanium screws in Taven’s jawbone, and fix new artificial teeth to his gums. 

They hadn't mentioned a word of the _other_ procedure anywhere Taven could hear it.

Knowing what would happen – or most of it anyway – might have calmed Taven somewhat, but it was clear no promises of complete unawareness of pain had made the boy less worried about being anesthetized. In the car, driving them to the hospital, Taven had admitted he feared simply not waking up again. ‘_What if they give me too much of that shit_,’ he’d asked, twirling his braid around his fingers. Would he just sleep himself into death then, he’d wondered. Nickel had assured him the anesthesiologist knew what he was doing, and there were no risks at all. Taven hadn’t argued, but he’d looked far from convinced. 

A few minutes later, he’d asked if the nurses would look at him while he was out and stare at his tattoo. Nickel hadn’t known what to say, but then he’d simply employed a white lie and told Taven no one would do anything of the sort. Luckily, Taven hadn’t asked how he could be so sure, because of course he couldn't. Nickel knew they wouldn’t let him into the actual operation room, only to make sure someone’s curiosity didn’t get the better of them. 

Still, Taven had trusted him enough not to make trouble, and it sure didn’t make him feel better about the other procedure.

Nickel picked up a magazine from a pile on a side table and shifted around in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. Restlessly he flipped through the pages, but then threw it back on the pile. He closed his eyes instead, picturing Taven with a wide smile, showing an even row of perfect white teeth, and tried to imagine how stunningly pretty it would make the boy. He convinced himself of how happy Taven would be, too, about his new looks, and to get rid of the aches and pains.

It distracted him sufficiently well from his bad conscience, at least for the moment.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel could take Taven home the same day.

All the way out to the mansion, Taven was pretty much out of it. He sat slumped down beside him in the passenger seat, head hanging, groggy and tired. Reaching the house, Taven stubbornly tried to walk inside under his own steam, but his knees gave out after only a few staggering steps. Nickel was right behind to catch the boy and simply hoisted Taven up in his arms.

Taven was too woozy to protest and his head lolled against Nickel’s chest as he carried him inside. He put the boy to bed in the room downstairs himself, pulling his shoes off and stripping him down to underwear and t-shirt; tucking him in. Taven didn’t protest this either, but he looked at his master from under heavy eyelids and tried to speak through his swollen mouth, his cheeks stuffed full with gauze pads. Weakly, he tugged at Nickel’s shirt breast. 

Nickel leaned in closer.

“Fff- futhing… Damb f- futhing _sith_!” Taven swore into his ear, seemingly with his last reserves of strength, badly slurring out the forbidden words. 

Nickel couldn’t help smiling at the boy’s toothless anger, and only caressed his head in response. He made an already half-asleep Taven spit out the pads, so he wouldn’t choke on them, threw them away, switched the lights off, and left. Taven would feel better in the morning, when he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, and the last of the drugs had cleared out of his system.

\-----o0o-----

When Nickel came down the next morning, Taven was already awake, but hardly seemed in a better mood. The boy glared at his master and seemed to revel in the fact he could take advantage of his newly acquired status as a convalescent, to not have to get up to properly greet him.

Nickel sat down at the bedside and patted his covered thighs in comfort. “How are you doing?” he asked. 

Taven looked away. “It fucking hurts, Master,” he complained, not slurring as badly as yesterday, but still lisping because of all the gaps in his mouth. “It was better with the damn toothache,” he added.

“Oh, surely it can’t be,” Nickel said. “It will heal soon, and then you won’t have any pains at all.”

“When?” Taven whined.

“A few weeks to heal fully,” Nickel admitted. “But the worst pain will subside in a few days, and of course I’d never let you suffer even that long. They gave me a prescription for painkillers.”

“I can’t fucking eat anything,” Taven argued. “It hurts just to drink.” He pointed to the glass of lemon-flavored water one of the maids had brought him in place of his usual breakfast, indicating how he’d hardly touched it.

Nickel smiled, took a flat box out of his pants pocket and opened it to show Taven the large capsules. “You don’t eat these,” he said. “They’re suppositories.” 

Taven looked none the wiser, obviously never having heard the word, but his eyes widened when Nickel explained. “You say I’m gonna eat pills with my _ass_?” he said, incredulous.

Nickel smiled widely. “In a manner of speaking… Yes,” he said. “Take two of these, and it’ll help, you’ll see.”

Taven still looked like it was the weirdest thing he’d ever heard, but he received the pills and shuffled out into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later to climb back in bed. The boy still looked as miserable as before, his head sinking back into the pillow, but it changed surprisingly fast. A confused look spread on Taven’s face and his eyes glazed over. “Wow,” he said, appearing almost drunk to Nickel. “Like… Wow… These ass pills are fucking scary,” he said, looking dizzily about the room.

Nickel looked at the box of pills in his hand. He’d better not leave these with Taven, but take them up to his own bathroom cabinet. They were stronger than he’d thought.

\-----o0o-----

Taven was out of the bed again only a few days later. The swelling had gone down, and though his gums were still somewhat tender there was, indeed, no more pain from his bad teeth. Nickel wasted no time then, to have them back on their usual schedule.

He might not be enthusiastic about returning to the books, but Nickel was still able to detect a noticeable change at their lessons during the coming days. 

The boy didn’t act so moody anymore, and he was all around calmer and less irritable. Nickel wondered how much of his earlier acting out might simply have been due to the constant aches. It would be understandable, Nickel thought. He supposed he wouldn’t have been such a ray of sunshine either. It didn’t make him feel better about not doing something sooner, but the important thing was, for the first time in years, the boy could now wake up to days of no pain at all. 

One morning, when Taven had practiced his writing, and Nickel had commended him on his, admittedly slow, progress, the boy looked up at him and spontaneously smiled in response. The smile was in no way an aesthetically pleasing experience. They had pulled more than half of the boy’s teeth, and his mouth looked like a broken fence. However, it wasn’t the unseemly sight, which startled Nickel but the realization that this was the first real smile Taven had ever given him. 

Nickel returned it with a tender smile of his own, but inside the guilt tugged at his heart. The next operation was not far off, and though the dentist had strongly advised him not to mention anything about the _other_ procedure to the slave, but let him deal with a ‘fait accompli’, Nickel knew he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t tell Taven.

He would live with making the decision, but damn if he would let Taven stay in the dark about it until after the fact. It might be a necessary evil, but the least he could do was to properly explain it to the boy, prepare him for it, and help him accept it.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel came to Taven’s room just before bedtime, thinking that for a talk such as this, the boy would be most comfortable in his own space. This would be difficult enough as it was, and the upstairs, not to mention the study, would be too imposing a place.

“The last operation is only two days away,” he started. “Are you prepared?”

Taven squirmed a little at his side. “I don’t know… Do I really have to do all that shit again? I mean, things are kind of good now. I don’t have any aches, and I’ll take care of my teeth from now on, too, Master, I promise I will. I’m brushing several times a day.”

Nickel put an arm around Taven’s shoulders and rubbed his arm. “I know an operation isn’t nice to go through, but we have to complete the process, boy. It’s good you’re taking care of your teeth, but there _are_ only a few of them left to brush. You need a full set. You hardly have enough of them now to eat a solid meal, and you can’t go the rest of your life having soup and mashed potatoes only.” 

“I guess,” Taven said, head hanging. “You’re gonna make me eat pills with my ass again, too, aren’t you?” he added with a sigh.

Nickel kept rubbing his arm in comfort. Taven hadn’t liked how strong the suppositories were, he’d claimed they made him dizzy and nauseated. “They’re better than enduring the pain, aren’t they?”

Taven nodded, and gave him a faint stretch of the lips in response. “I suppose,” he agreed.

Another smile, weak and fleeting as it was. Nickel was sorely tempted to get up from the bed where they had taken a seat, say goodnight, and simply leave on this positive note, but, no, he couldn’t. 

“There’s something else I must tell you,” he said.

Taven might have noticed the seriousness in his voice. He looked up at him with worry in his eyes. “What? What did I do?”

“Nothing! This isn’t about anything you did. It’s about the operation…” Nickel steeled himself. He _had_ to tell him. “We didn’t explain _all_ parts of the procedure to you, and… Well, there’s one more thing which will be done, while you’re anesthetized, and I think you deserve to know what it is, and why I approved.”

The boy didn’t understand and looked at him with ever-increasing worry, and how could he? How could he ever understand? Nickel swallowed hard.

“What ‘thing’?” Taven said. “What did you do?”

“It’s not altogether easy to explain,” Nickel said. “So, I printed it out to show you instead.” He fished a folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket and moved over, so he could smooth it out on the bed between them. 

Taven stared at the illustrations, obviously none the wiser. “What is that?” he said, his brow furled in confusion.

“It’s called ‘a bit’,” Nickel explained, trying to hide behind his classroom voice. “This image here illustrates the inside of your mouth. The last two teeth at each side of your lower jaw, closest to your throat, has been removed, and there will be titanium screws implanted, just as in the rest of your mouth where there are teeth missing. Do you remember the dentist explaining this to us?”

“Yeah, Master,” Taven said. “They’ll put new teeth on the screws, right?”

“Yes,” Nickel said, “but here, at the back of your mouth, they will put something else instead. Can you see how there’s a pair of metal knobs placed here, instead of teeth?” Nickel pointed at the picture.

Taven frowned deeper. “They’ll put those knobs in my mouth? Why? What for?”

“These knobs function as an anchorage point for this,” Nickel pointed at the next picture, showing another metal object, shaped like the letter A, but with small loops at the ends. “This A-shape will go in your mouth, the loops will lock around the knobs, and the bit will be fixed in place.”

Nickel held his breath, waiting for a reaction, but Taven still didn’t seem to understand.

“But… What the fuck _is_ it? I don’t get it, Master. What does it _do_?”

“It… It presses your tongue down, so… You won’t be able to speak.”

The expected angry outburst didn’t come. Taven only stared at him, seemingly in such a state of shock he couldn’t react at all. “You…” he finally said; his voice hardly more than a weak gasp. “You- you won’t let me talk anymore. _Ever_ again?” 

There was such a bewildered expression of hurt in his eyes that Nickel felt sick to his stomach.

“No!” he blurted out in assurance. “No, it’s not for long term use and it’s most certainly not permanent. That isn’t physically possible, and… You can’t really believe I’d do something so despicably cruel as to rob you of your speech for the rest of your life. No, boy, no, how could I? I enjoy speaking with you. No, this is for temporary use only. It’s for a few hours, at the most, and only when it’s important you remain quiet.”

Nickel couldn’t tell if anything he said had actually registered with Taven. The slave still looked mostly shocked. 

“Look here,” Nickel said. He tapped the paper until Taven seemed to snap out of it, and looked where he pointed. “The bit can be removed, and put in again, as many times as is needed. It locks in place when you snap the loops around the knobs, and then you’ll use a special key to take it out. Can you see the key on this picture, and how it shows how you do it? Naturally, the slave wearing the bit can’t have access to the key, but it most definitely comes out again.” 

Taven put a shaking finger on the paper and followed the series of ‘how to pictures’. His eyes were still wide and almost glassy when he looked up again. “Please… Please, Master, don’t do this, please,” he begged. “I know I’ve a bad mouth, but… I’ll try harder. I promise. I will, I _will_!”

Nickel couldn’t stand the look in the boy’s eyes. He reached over the paper and pulled Taven close, pressing his face to his shoulder. “I’m sorry, boy. I don’t want to do this, and I know you’re trying, but it simply isn’t enough.”

Taven’s hand came up to grab at his arm in a shaking grip. “Is it because what I said to that lord, because I talked when I shouldn’t? I know I fucked that up, but, I- I won’t do it again. I swear I won’t. I won’t say a word anywhere, ever again, I promise. Master, please…” he pleaded against his shoulder.

“This isn’t punishment, Taven. It’s not about a specific situation in the past; it’s about your future. It’s good you know what you’re doing wrong and want to do better, but the best intentions in the world don’t help when you still can’t control yourself.” 

It was the simple truth, and Taven must have realized this, too. He started to cry. “I’m fucking worthless,” he wept. 

“No, Taven,” Nickel said, caressing him over the head while the boy clung to him and wet his shirt with his tears. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re not worthless at all. On the contrary, you’re worth a lot, to me. A lot! I’m only doing this because I’m scared of losing you. You are the way you are, Taven, and maybe we can change you, in time, but… Oh, I don’t even care how much you swear and act out, but sooner or later you’re going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and they will take you from me, and…” 

Nickel grabbed Taven by his upper arms and held him at arm’s length, staring him in the eyes with the strictest and most serious expression he could muster. “Do you want to live, Taven? Do you want to stay with me?”

Taven stared back with wide eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t seem to be able to answer, but he nodded at his master’s words, his head bobbing up and down in frightened desperation.

Yes, of course he wanted to live, of course he wanted to stay here. Nickel felt like shit, but he went on nevertheless. “Yes? Because they _will_ take you, and they will kill you, and I have to do what I have to do, to make sure that won’t happen, you understand?”

He pulled the boy close again. “If you can’t control yourself, I’ll have to do it for you. I’d rather not, and it won’t be nice, but I _am_ helping you. Do you understand I’m helping you, Taven?”

Nickel could feel Taven nodding against his shoulder. “Yes, Master,” he wept. “Yes…”

\-----o0o-----

Taven waited, in the corner of his bed, knees pulled up to his chin, as if it could protect him.

Somewhere along the line, he’d actually started to look forward to regularly seeing his master, but tonight he wished more than anything he could lock his door only from the inside, instead of the other way around. However, he couldn’t, and all he could do was to wait.

The final operation was already a while behind him. It had been as scary, uncomfortable and painful as the first one, though with rest, and pills for the pain, he’d recovered soon enough. He’d been out of bed in two days, but it had taken him longer to get used to the drastic change overall. Everything had felt strange and awkward, at first. Drinking, eating, speaking… It had been as if he did these things with someone else’s mouth. 

It wasn’t until later, when the implants started to feel like an actual part of him and all the tenderness was gone, that Taven started to think it had all been worth it, after all. There were no more toothache, and he had a full set of perfect teeth. 

Imagine that. 

In fact, Taven did have problems imagining this, and he spent a ridiculously large amount of time in front his bathroom mirror, doing nothing but staring at the implants. Taven was amazed they looked so good, and seemed so natural. He was amazed his jawbone was full of metal, and he didn’t feel anything. How did the docs do these things? It was fucking magic. 

His master liked them, too. The man told him almost every day how good he looked now. Taven had to admit he enjoyed hearing it. He also had to admit, physically, he’d never felt better. The toothache taken care of was only one thing. His asshole was as good as healed, too, and his throat wasn’t sore anymore. The multitude of pills he had to take worked on a lot of shit, and there was no more stinging and burning when peeing either. He hadn’t realized just how many aches and pains had plagued him daily, even without people actively hurting him – until it was all gone.

Yeah, things would be good, if it wasn’t for the permanent presence of those metal knobs in his mouth. 

Taven couldn’t say the knobs physically bothered him. They were about the same size as a normal molar and were smooth and rounded. If he didn’t think about them, he would hardly be aware of them at all, but how could he not think of them. How the fuck could he not think about what they were for? How could he not dread his master’s arrival, knowing how the man would use them.

He shouldn’t be so damn scared, he admonished himself. It wasn’t as if they'd never gagged him before, after all. Some of Swift’s ‘friends’ had enjoyed shutting him up with all sorts of shit, regardless if he’d said a thing. 

It had been particularly popular to stuff used socks or underwear in his mouth, and they had clearly enjoyed his disgust and choked panic. Taven retched at the mere memory; he could still taste it. Swift had often gagged him for sleep, too, pushing whatever rag he could reach into his mouth and tying it off with itchy strings that had left red marks at the corner of his mouth. The slave trader, in particular, had shut him up by gagging all the time, using a rubber gag whenever he mouthed off, which had, at least, not really hurt. 

However, this was _metal_, and it _locked_ into his mouth. Taven shuddered and pushed his face against his knees, hugging himself. No one had ever used metal before, or something that locked in place. Even with a key, the whole thing had come across as inevitable, inescapable and relentless.

He was fucking scared.

For a while, Taven had hoped his master wouldn’t use the actual ‘bit part’, but had only had the knobs implanted as a warning, and a reminder, to shape up and do better. The man had explained how the bit worked before the operation, but then he hadn’t mentioned it with a word again. As the days passed, Taven almost dared hope it wouldn’t happen. Until today, when this idiotic hope was as thoroughly crushed as it deserved.

The man had only been waiting for him to properly heal and fully recover, that was all. 

In the classroom this morning, his master had suddenly informed him, tonight they would try the bit on for the first time. The man had explained how wearing the bit apparently took some getting used to, and he had to practice. Taven shuddered. What the hell kind of ‘getting used to’? He couldn’t even imagine. 

He would fight it, he swore. When his master came with that fucking thing, he’d yell and scream and barricade himself in the bathroom, or hide under the bed. He’d run outside, or whatever he could think of doing, until the man tired of it, and left him alone. 

However when his master did arrive, Taven did nothing. It wasn’t only because he knew if he fought it, he would of course tire out considerably faster than his patient and much stronger and fitter master, and it would do him no good at all. No, he might be scared of the bit, but it was an even bigger fear, which kept him in place. 

‘_They_ will _take you, and they_ will kill you!’ 

These words had kept playing back in his head every day since his master had uttered them, and he couldn’t get it out of his head. Could they really do that, only because he had a big mouth? Of course, he knew they would kill a slave if they attacked a free person, but he was only letting his mouth run, and most of the time, he didn’t even mean to. They’d kill him for that alone? Taven didn’t want to believe it, but it must be true, because his master hadn’t lied to him so far, and the man had sounded very serious, and looked almost desperate he would listen. In fact, his owner had looked frightened, and this alone had scared the living daylights out of him. It couldn’t just be an empty threat, could it, if his master was scared, too. 

Maybe Taven had wanted to die once, but he’d been so miserable then, so bereft of hope, so exhausted and in pain. He hadn’t been thinking straight. Taven didn’t want to die anymore, and the thought of someone taking him away, his own master powerless to save him, made him ice cold with terror. 

His master walked inside and sat down at the bedside. It was deceptively similar to other visits the man had occasionally made down here, but Taven wasn’t able to act as if everything was normal. He couldn’t bring himself to properly greet his master even in the casual manner he was usually allowed. He remained in the corner, stubbornly hiding his face. 

The man seemed to give him the time he needed, and only silently waited until Taven tired of ignoring him and finally looked up. His master looked back at him with sad eyes, and seemed almost apologetic he’d come. 

Yes, his master didn’t like this. He’d said so, that he didn’t want to do it at all. Taven believed him, but the man would still do it, so, Taven would still be fucking angry with him. Was he supposed to feel sorry for his owner, only because the man felt bad about this? Fuck that; Taven wouldn’t. Again, he looked away, trembling with anger.

His master must have noticed, but he ignored it. He reached out a hand and urged him to take what he was holding. “Here,” he said. “I thought you’d want to look at it first.”

Taven didn’t, but since it was likely his master would patiently hold that horrible thing under his nose for fucking forever, he gave up and took it. It was neatly wrapped in plastic. Taven slowly opened the package and stared at the object in his palm. It wasn’t as big as he’d imagined, but it was heavy, considering its size, and cold and hard against his skin. 

He did _not_ want to put this in his mouth. “Master, please…” he begged, anger giving way to desperation. 

“I know,” his master said. “But we have to make sure you can wear it without problems, for when it’s needed. We have to practice. It… It’s probably not comfortable, but it can’t hurt you. Can you feel how smooth it is?”

Anger came over him again so quickly, Taven had no chance of stopping himself from acting on it. “Then _you_ fucking wear it!” he yelled, throwing the offending object across the room. 

If his master beat the shit out of him for this, Taven was beyond caring. He didn’t press himself into the corner and hid his face because he was scared but because he was so fucking angry, he didn’t know what to do with himself. In fact, he’d never wished for a beating as much as he did right now. Why couldn’t his master just once lose his temper, it’d be so much easier to fucking hate him, forever.

However, as usual, the man refused to react as any normal master would. He only sighed deeply, rose from the bed and went to pick up the bit from the floor. “Taven,” he said patiently, sitting down at the bedside again. “Do you realize you’re proving to me, right now, that doing this was necessary?” 

Taven's face turned brightly red, and the rage was gone as sudden as it had appeared. He had no answer, only shame at his own immense stupidity. 

“Come sit here beside me,” his master ordered mildly. “I won’t make you wear it for long, not when it’s your first time. It will only be for a few minutes, ten, at the most.”

Taven hung his head. He wanted to obey now, but he just couldn’t make himself move out of the corner. 

“The sooner we do this, the sooner it will be over,” his master tried, his voice as mild as ever.

Taven supposed that was true. Reluctantly he scooted across the bed, and settled beside his master. “Okay,” he said bitterly, staring at the floor between his feet. “Just fucking do it then!”

His master rubbed his back in comfort. “It will be over before you know it, you’ll see,” he assured him. “Now, turn to me, tilt your head back, and open your mouth...”

Taven let his master position him any way he wanted to now, the man’s fingers gently turning his head toward the light. He was obeying, but when he felt the metal brush against his lower lip, he couldn’t help flinching and wave his arms in front his face, pushing his owner’s hands away. “No,” he blurted out. “No, Master, wait, please! You- you weren’t lying to me, right? You _can_ take it out?” 

His master sat back and let his hands sink. “Of course I can take it out. Ten minutes, not a second more, and I’ll take it out.” He paused and stuck his hand down his pants pocket. “Look, here’s the key,” he said, holding a small metal object up in front his eyes. “If it makes you feel better, you can hold on to it while we do this.”

There was nothing that could make Taven feel better about this, but he quickly snatched the ‘key thing’ out of his master’s hand, and hid it in a tightly clenched fist, pressing it to his chest. 

His master held the bit up again, and Taven obediently opened his mouth wide. He closed his eyes tightly, his hand shaking around the key, but then he stopped the whole thing once more, by jerking his head away.

“Taven,” his master warned. For the first time, there was a barely noticeable tone of impatience in his voice. 

“I’m sorry,” Taven said. “I’m gonna let you, Master, I am, it’s just… You’re not gonna leave me, are you? You’re gonna stay here, right? Please, don’t leave me with this thing in!”

The man gave his cheek the gentlest of caresses with his knuckles, his dark eyes glimmering with moist. “I… I’m not going anywhere, Taven. I’ll stay the entire time, I promise.”

He gave up then, and let his master put the bit in his mouth. Taven shuddered at the metallic taste. There was a moment of fumbling, and then there was a harsh pull at his teeth together with a loud snapping sound, which reverberated through his head. 

The bit had locked into the knobs. 

Taven’s eyes widened in shock, the bit pressed down on his tongue much harder than he’d realized. He doubled over, retching violently, and fell to his knees on the floor, gagging and mewling, his tongue jerking spastically, saliva running all over his chin, making long strings to the floorboards. Near panic, Taven dropped the key, and futilely clawed inside his mouth, trying to tear out the horrible contraption with his bare fingers.

His master reached for him, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him onto his lap. Taven cried and fought to keep clawing at his mouth, but his master grabbed his wrists and forced his hands away. He struggled frantically. Didn’t the man understand it was hurting him? Didn’t he get he had to take it out. He _had_ to; it would make him throw up, it would fucking suffocate and kill him. 

The man did not take it out, and he didn’t let go.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel lifted Taven off the floor and onto his lap, pressing the boy’s trembling back to his chest and holding his hands away from his face. Carefully – ignoring Taven’s crying and kicking, even as it tore at his heart – he turned them around and laid them both down on the bed. He spooned Taven and whispered soothing and comforting words in his ear, anything he could think of, to relax the boy. The bit couldn’t hurt or suffocate, it was carefully designed not to, and if Taven only calmed down he would soon realize he was causing himself the biggest discomfort by trying to fight it.

After a while, Taven did calm down and stopped retching and coughing so violently, but he was still crying, and trembling badly. Nickel pressed his face into the boy’s hair, trying to find his voice to form more words of comfort, while tears silently streamed down his own cheeks. 

He had truly never felt like a bigger bastard in all his life before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since, again, we have a chapter ending on a rather sad note, I will go against my own rules this time, and double post, even though this is technically not a double-post-week.
> 
> /Fran


	33. He Only Did It Because He Cares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paxterhobber keeps spoiling me with artwork for this story *beams* :-) and... aaaawww, this one is so sad and so fitting for these last two chapters. I have a bad conscious now!!
> 
> You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/56651464#workskin)
> 
> /Fran

Taven sat in the corner of his master’s couch. He’d pulled his feet up under a soft blanket and snuggled deep into an enormous pillow at his back. It was cozy and comfortable, and he was watching TV.

He’d never watched TV in his life. 

Of course, he wasn’t unfamiliar with it. Free people had their TVs on at all times, and in the small places they'd kept him, there had been no way to avoid hearing, catching glimpses of what played out on the screen, or watching in secret. Being kept indoors for most of his life that ever-present TV, as well as hearing free people talk, had been his only source of knowledge. Not that he’d consciously tried to learn anything, he understood, now that he knew what actual learning entailed, but without thinking, he’d picked up a lot of stuff in those ways. 

He had never been allowed to sit down to _watch_ something, though, which was different. Normally, this master wouldn’t have allowed him to either. However, for the last few days the man had made an exception, only to make it easier for Taven to get used to the bit. His master had thought if he were distracted by something fun and nice, he’d focus less on the discomfort of wearing it.

No amount of distraction would have worked at first, Taven thought bitterly, and his master must have realized that, too. The TV nights had come much later, and this was the third one in a row. 

Tonight, his master had even let him choose what to watch. Taven had asked to see a documentary about the jungle. Not that he understood much what the narrator was talking about, but he liked the monkeys. They were almost like people, kind of, only not really, which just made them fucking funny. 

Yes, for a while, watching the monkeys, he’d almost forgotten he was sitting here with a fucking metal bit locked into his mouth. 

It was amazing how he could now wear it for so long, but there was a simple enough trick to it. Taven had soon realized all he had to do was to calm the fuck down and not fight it, which was a hell of a lot easier in theory than in practice. However, Taven had eventually mastered his fears and learned to relax. There was no pride in this progress; it wasn’t as if he’d had a fucking choice, but it had become easier with time, and eventually he’d reached a state where the distraction of a TV screen indeed helped, and made the time go faster. 

The program ended. Taven slowly sat up from his comfortable half-lying position and looked over to his master, at the other end of the three-seat sofa. The man had promised, when the hour-long documentary ended, he would take the bit out. His master switched the TV off and turned to him, holding up the key with a smile, waving him over.

Taven quickly threw the blanket aside and sprang up from the couch to kneel down on the floor between his master’s legs, opening his mouth wide. He might be able to stand it for hours now, but that didn’t mean he wanted to wear it a second longer than he had to. As usual, there was an unpleasant pull at his jaw before his master managed to remove it, and Taven couldn’t help his loud exhale in relief.

He remained on his knees, watching his master clean the bit off with a paper towel doused with cleaning solution, before he put it back in its plastic container on the sideboard. Taven could cry when he thought about wearing it again in only a day or two. 

His master turned back to him, touched his cheek in a light caress, and fiddled with the hair hanging in his face. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Taven shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, trying to sound as if the whole thing wasn’t a big deal.

“You seem to be able to wear it now without problems,” the man went on. “Do you think you could handle it for, say, an entire evening out?”

Taven squirmed. “I think so, Master,” he said cautiously, hoping this didn’t mean he had to prove it anytime soon.

“Well, no need to practice any longer then, I suppose. We’ll put it away, for now.”

Taven looked up. “You mean… I don’t have to do this again?”

His master nodded in confirmation. “I don’t think you need to practice anymore, no, so, until it’s actually needed, I think we can simply put it away.”

“Ain’t it needed, like, all the time then, Master?” Taven asked bitterly. He knew after all, how hard it was to remember not to swear alone, and his master sure as hell didn’t like it when he did.

The man sighed, and touched his hair again, pushing it out if his eyes. “I’ve explained this to you, boy. The bit isn’t punishment, and it isn’t a speech correction tool. It’s only to stop you from taking unnecessary risks out there, where the wrong person might hear you, and report you. We might not need it in weeks, or even months. So, let’s simply forget about it for the time being.”

Taven sank down with his ass resting on his heels. He’d almost not dared hope this moment would come. “Thank you, Master,” he said. “Thank you so fu… Thank you _so_ much!”

His master only smiled at that, but then he leaned back in the couch, his expression changed completely and it was as if he couldn’t even look at him. “Taven,” he started hesitatingly, his voice forced. “Do you… Do you hate me for this?”

Taven was stunned at the question, or maybe not so much the actual words, as his master’s tone. It sounded as if the man was actually afraid to hear the answer. Taven looked away, too.

He _had_ hated the man. 

Every time he’d come with that fucking thing Taven had hated him so damn much. The first time had been fucking horrible. ‘Uncomfortable’ hadn’t covered it. He’d been convinced it would outright kill him, but no matter how he’d fought and cried in fear and despair, his master had still gone through with it. 

Hell _yes_, he’d hated his master. 

The second time his master had brought the bit he’d completely fallen apart and burst out crying at the mere sight of it. It had done him no fucking good at all. His master had only waited until he’d calmed down on his own, and then he’d talked him into accepting it again. How the hell could he not have hated his master? The man didn’t even fucking physically force the damn bit on him, but instead kept tricking him into simply accepting it. 

_Fuck_, he’d hated him.

Yes, Taven had eventually understood the bit could neither hurt him, nor suffocate him, and it did get easier with each time, but it hadn’t changed how he felt about it, and sure didn’t make him less angry and hateful. 

Taven thought his master must have known how he felt, but hadn’t cared one shit about it. He couldn't sway the man with tears and pleas, and acting out in anger only reassured his owner of the need to use it. Freaking out or stalling was useless, too. The man would only patiently wait him out, and mildly talk to him, until he gave up and finally agreed to have the bit put in. 

Oh, Taven had so fucking _hated_ him. 

Since his master had given him no outlet for these feelings, Taven had retaliated in the only way he could think of. He’d simply completely shut his master out in the classroom, and flatly denied him the responses he knew the man enjoyed. He stopped making trouble, and didn’t give his master a single reason to scold him, but neither did he show any kind of interest in anything. He asked no more questions, and didn’t react to encouragement or compliments. 

His owner probably understood what he was doing, but he’d simply backed off, and not said a word.

Taven’s sinister pleasure at this ‘victory’ hadn’t lasted long. His master sighed and looked sad, and every day there was an awkward and uneasy atmosphere around them, filling the whole room and resting heavily on his shoulders. Taven was trying to ‘punish’ the man, but he ended up feeling like shit, too. In spite of himself, in spite of his anger, his hurt and hate, Taven miserably wanted the moments back where his master would commend him, encourage him, rub his shoulders, and look pleased when he smiled in reply. 

He’d felt increasingly uneasy at the bad feelings between them, and if _he_ felt like that, then his master would, of course, really be tired of all the shit. Masters had a legal right to demand their slaves didn’t make their day worse, after all, and if Taven kept this up, his master might just have enough one of these days and give up on him altogether. 

Then where would he be?

As the weeks passed, and he slowly got used to the bit, Taven’s hate and anger simmered down, and he found himself justifying what his master was doing to him. 

His master didn’t do this just to be mean, after all, and it wasn’t like the man had been lying either. Taven _couldn’t_ control himself. It didn’t matter how well he knew he shouldn’t do things, sooner or later his brain, sort of, short-circuited, and he blurted out stuff he’d never meant to actually say. Yes, his master was right in all he’d said, and the man didn’t even like doing bad stuff to him. He was nothing like Swift, after all. His _former_ master was the one who enjoyed hurting slaves, but this master didn’t. Just look at how his master _didn’t_ physically force the bit on him, but tolerated his tantrums, spoke to him mildly, and explained repeatedly why it was necessary. What master would ever do such a thing? Everyone else would have just beaten him until he obeyed, or gotten rid of him by now.

No, the man _cared_, and that’s why his master was forced to hurt him like this, to spare him from things, which were a fucking thousand times worse. 

Right? 

He had known all along his master’s motivations were factually true, but it had taken him longer to think they weren’t only correct, but also _right_. Things had become much easier after that. He wasn’t so angry anymore and slowly started to cooperate during their lessons again. That’s when the TV nights had started, too. 

Taven simply couldn’t afford not to truly believe in that his master was actually _right and good_ in doing this to him. 

He had no one else, after all. 

Taven finally shook his head at his master’s question. “Nah, I don’t hate you,” he said.

His master leaned over to rest his elbows on his parted knees, clasping his hands together, looking at him closely. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” he said. 

Taven shook his head. “No! I told you, Master. I don’t! You know…” He paused, scrambling for an explanation. “No matter this shit, you ain’t half the bastard they were down at the South End, and…”

His master interrupted him with a small laugh. “Well, I suppose I’ll settle for merely being half of a bastard then.”

“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” Taven said. 

“I know you didn’t,” his master assured him. The man sighed deeply. “I did only act in your best interest, Taven. If you’ll never believe me, or understand this, I will have to accept that. I won’t blame you for your feelings, but if you do understand…If you truly don’t hate me… Well, I can’t say I’m not relieved.” 

Again, his master smiled at him, but it was a strangely shaky expression. The man was still worried it might not be true he didn’t hate him, Taven realized, and it was the weirdest revelation ever. It was actually important to his owner what a fucking worthless slave thought of him?

Somewhere, at the back of his confused mind, Taven almost understood there was a kind of power in this, but he couldn’t form the fleeting feeling into an actual thought.

No, Taven might not fully understand how his former anger and hate could have morphed into this weird need to reassure and comfort his master tonight, but he still returned the hopeful smile with a rare one of his own.

\-----o0o-----

Once again, peace reigned in the classroom.

Everything was back to normal, or rather, it was better than ‘normal’, much better. After the last few hellish weeks, Nickel hadn’t dare hope this would be the case, and he was happy and relieved he’d been wrong.

When faced with the reality of the bit, Taven had acted much as Nickel feared, with despair, anger and ill-concealed hatred. Still, in front of Taven, he had steeled himself, and gone through with it. He was convinced he couldn’t go back on his decision, and he constantly reminded himself it was for the boy’s own good. Focusing on this fact, he’d thought he should be angry with Taven’s resistance and bad attitude, and at least reprimand him harshly. He was doing his best to keep the slave safe, after all, but Taven refused to understand, or cooperate. 

However, he’d not been able to blame Taven for how he acted, and no matter how he pretended to be the hard master during the day, at night he’d been sleepless with guilt. He’d felt so bad, he hadn’t even told Roth about doing this in the first place, when usually he told his friend almost everything.

Guilt had made him tolerate Taven’s behavior, too, whatever it consisted of, and he couldn’t help how sad he’d been when the trust he’d worked so hard to build between them crumbled into pieces before him. Finally, it made him degrade himself to such an extent he had, in a roundabout way, even asked the slave’s forgiveness. 

Undoubtedly, his father would have chided him for doing such a thing. ‘Treat a slave well, by all means, keep a ‘pet’ to coddle if you need to, but never let them know you might be insecure about your decisions, or feel bad about making them’. You certainly never apologized to a slave, or asked their forgiveness, it would be a most inappropriate kind of weakness. 

Well then, so, he was weak. 

Growing up, his father had explained, a master showing any kind of weakness could make a slave question their place, but Nickel had risked it for the flimsiest chance of restoring his peace of mind. He might be able to keep to what he’d been taught when it came to the other slaves in the house, but it was all so different with Taven. 

Well, it didn’t matter that he’d succumbed to this moment of weakness, because Taven _had_ forgiven him, and he still knew his place. 

Yes, Nickel thought, Taven had eventually come around. As so many times before, the slave’s impulsive behavior got in the way of his rational reasoning, but when Taven had calmed down, he’d finally understood. The boy didn’t hate his master, and, contrary to all expectations, he was now behaving better than ever.

Nickel had thought about it, and he believed, strange and non-intuitive, as it might seem, that Taven would trust him _more_ after this ordeal. Yes, it had been hard on the boy, but he knew now his master wouldn’t hurt him unless there was a risk of greater harm. Taven would also know his master wouldn’t abandon, or punish, him for not understanding and acting out in consequence, that it was still safe to fall apart with him, even if it wouldn’t be with anyone else. Not least, the boy had finally understood nothing bad would happen if only he trusted his master. Once he’d gotten used to the bit, it wasn’t as horrible as he’d had feared, just as his master had assured him.

He was confident Taven’s trust in him was building up again, and was standing on a firmer foundation than before. 

Over at his desk Taven finished the last page of the book he’d been reading – a book for slightly older children this time, with more text and fewer pictures – and slowly closed it. Nickel was pleased, Taven had struggled with it for weeks, and he meant to commend the boy for sticking with it, but Taven forestalled him. 

“Master,” he said, looking up at him, still holding the book, turning it around and around in his hands. “Can I, like, ask something?”

“Well, asking questions from your reading material is what I’d like you to do,” Nickel reminded him. 

Taven looked down at the book as if he just now saw it for the first time. “Um, yeah, right… I’ve been thinking, about other stuff, though, like, personal stuff… Can I ask about that? I mean, is there like a rule, or something?”

Nickel raised his eyebrows. Though they had spoken of personal matters before, Taven had never expressed an actual wish to talk with him. It filled his chest with warmth; he hadn't destroyed the boy’s trust in him at all. He got up from his chair behind the teacher’s desk and walked over to Taven, grabbing a chair on the go to sit down beside him. This, he thought, demanded a delicate approach. There were of course rules, plenty of them, but he didn’t want to scare Taven off confiding in him. 

“Well,” he said. “I suppose there are rules for everything. Practical matters and emergencies aside, most slaves would probably be best off not speaking to any free person at all without being spoken to, but that’s in public. It’s slightly different for slaves like you, Taven, because you’re expected to be alone with me, and in private, _I_ set the rules, not traditions, or society. Do you understand the difference?”

Taven nodded.

“You can speak with me about anything when it’s only the two of us,” Nickel assured him. “You only have to ask to speak freely, but you should never do so with anyone else about.”

Taven only gave him a highly suspicious look at this. “Yeah, you _say_ I can talk about, whatever, but then I’ll say something wrong, and don’t even know it, and you’ll get pissed as hell.”

Nickel didn’t answer right away. Trying to put himself in Taven’s situation, he supposed he understood what kind of quagmire such a general permission could be. What was a promise to speak freely really worth if the slave inadvertently touched a nerve? 

“Just ask me politely,” Nickel repeated. “If I give you permission, I will take responsibility for having done so and not punish you for what you say, this much I can promise. You’re correct in how you can never be sure not to say something I wouldn’t like, but I’ll try to give you a heads up. Bring up what you want, Taven, and I’ll let you know if I will revoke the permission. No punishment. I’ll give you an out, don’t worry.”

Taven seemed to think things over, as well, taking long to reply. “So, can I talk freely then?” he finally asked. 

Nickel smiled. “It’s ‘may I speak freely, _Master_’, and, yes, you may. What’s on your mind, boy?” He put an arm around Taven’s shoulders and rubbed his upper arm in encouragement.

Once more Taven was silent for a long time, while Nickel patiently waited. “Why are you keeping me?” he finally said, staring down at the desktop, picking up the book again to turn it around in his hands. 

Nickel wasn’t prepared for such a question. “Uh…” he said. “Where did this come from?” 

Taven squirmed in his hold. “It doesn’t make sense, Master, none of it. I ain’t doing any real work around here. You’re spending all this time teaching me, but nothing ever sticks. I ain’t getting any smarter. The ‘attendis thing’ just all went to shits completely. You’re not gonna want to use me for _that_ again, and… You don’t even want me for sex, you never, like, even touch me, and…” Taven sighed deeply, his shoulders shrinking under his arm. “I ain’t nothing but trouble. I can’t even behave, and all you do is wasting money on me. So, what the fuck _are_ you keeping me for?”

Nickel couldn’t help his annoyance. Hadn’t he made it clear by now, he wasn’t going to get rid of Taven? Why could the boy never believe him? Did he think he would do all this, pay for medication, new teeth, everything else he’d done, if he simply planned to discard the slave? However, before he had a chance to express his irritation, Nickel thought better of it. Taven _wasn’t_ expressing a doubt whether he would be allowed to stay or not, was he? He’d asked ‘why’, not ‘if’.

“I…” he started, but fell silent. He was stumped and didn’t know how to reply. 

In an absurd sort of way, and though the difference in tone, accent and word choice was, of course, astronomical, Nickel thought it was almost like hearing the Wren clan’s Head Lord speaking, and not a simple slave. His father would have asked him the exact same things, he realized, and he felt a defensive urge to respond as if it really was the old lord he was speaking to.

“I’m not wasting money.” he blurted out.

“Yeah?” Taven argued defiantly. “I ain’t worth any 30 000, Master.”

Again, Nickel was stunned. The sum was, approximately, what he’d paid the dentist for the completed procedures, but it wasn’t something he’d discussed with Taven. Nickel was certain he’d never mentioned this sum anywhere the slave could have heard it. How did the boy know? “Where have you heard this?” he demanded.

Taven squirmed on the chair at his strict voice. “It was back in the hospital, after the second operation, when I woke up, and before you came back in, Master. There were these two nurses, or something. I don’t think they knew I wasn’t asleep anymore, and they talked, you know.”

“What did they say?” Nickel asked.

Taven looked away. “One of them, he said his car broke down.”

“His car?” Nickel didn’t understand.

“Yeah, Master. He said his car broke down, and he couldn’t afford to buy a new one, and he said he worked full time but couldn’t buy a new car anyway, but those fucking lords can cough up 30 000 on some fake teeth, just like that. He said he could’ve gotten a real good car for that, but instead he’s gotta watch a motherfucking clan lord just throw it away on- on… On garbage!” 

Taven silenced and swallowed hard, there was a tremble to his shoulders. 

Nickel let go of Taven and rose from the chair so forcefully it nearly tilted over. “What?” he yelled. “How _dare_ they? Did you catch the name of that nurse? Would you recognize him? If I find out who he is, I’ll… I’ll…” He shook his fist in anger. 

Taven’s wide-eyed and mute staring at his yelling and fist-shaking deflated his anger and he sighed deeply in exasperated frustration. What did he mean to do? Find that nurse and demand the hospital fired him? Maybe the man had wife and children who depended on him, and he would rush down there with the intent of ruining his life, for making an offhanded rude remark? 

No, he was a clan lord, and he should be above caring about common peoples’ mean-spirited gossip. In fact, he was, at least when it came to himself. What did he care if they were jealous of his riches? 

Nickel still wanted to find that nurse and punch him, only for making Taven think he was ‘garbage’.

He pulled the chair in place and sat down again, putting a comforting arm back around Taven’s shoulders. “Now, you listen to me, boy,” he said. “You are _not_ ‘garbage’. That man was only jealous, and had no idea what he was talking about in any case. Don’t you worry your head about the costs. I decide for myself how much things are worth to me, and it’s nobody’s business but my own what I spend my money on.”

Of course, it was also the business of his father, and, it wasn’t yet his own money he was spending, but…

“As for the rest,” he continued. “Teaching you isn’t at all a waste of time. Maybe you’re not a quick learner, but you _are_ learning, and you weren’t half-bad at attendance training either. What happened at The Club had nothing to do with how you performed your actual work. In fact, you attended me well enough, and… And- and… Uh… Well, sex has nothing to do with anything. I’ve told you, it’s too soon, that’s all, and…”

Taven kept staring at him, and Nickel silenced in thought, realizing he was only contradicting the slave’s earlier words, but was still not answering his actual question. Why _was_ he keeping a slave he didn’t have use for? Taven was correct, after all. He wasn’t actually using the boy for anything, not even as a pet, or company. He had _started_ to use him, yes, taking the boy to The Club, but had since aborted any further attempts to make him an attending slave. For some reason he kept the slave in a constant state of classroom learning and ‘fixing up’ only, but not letting him close to actually serve. 

The boy must wonder why he was the only slave in the house who was without purpose, and he’d obviously been thinking, and worried, about it. 

Nickel hadn’t seen the problem. For one thing, he was used to not having a personal slave, or a pet to keep him company in his rooms. The lack of Taven’s service in this capacity hadn’t registered with him, even as he often felt lonely and restless. It was true he’d gone back on his decision to make Taven an attending slave, thinking it too risky, but he did hope to resume this plan sometime in the future. Granted, teaching the slave might seem like a waste of time to many, but it wasn’t at all to Nickel. Their lessons filled up his days, presented him with intellectual challenges, and it was fun when Taven cooperated, showed interest or made progress. The hours spent in the classroom had become a reward unto itself, and Nickel simply enjoyed teaching, whether it gave him a useful slave in the end or not. 

Sex, on the other hand, was neither Taven’s purpose, nor his job. It was only something Nickel was hoping for. 

In the end, Nickel simply liked the boy, and to him, it was reason enough to keep Taven, regardless of any usefulness, now or later. He supposed most people wouldn’t understand, except, maybe, for Roth, but, most importantly, he doubted _Taven_ would understand. A slave was a thing of utility, after all, and they would all, slaves and owners alike, be raised to know this as truth.

He said nothing, and the lingering silence must have unnerved Taven.

“I can be of more use, Master,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I can do more attendis work. I’ll practice more. You can take me back to that party, and I’ll do it like the last time… I mean, I’ll do better, and if- if someone touches me, I won’t complain.”

Nickel shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, boy.”

Taven looked sorely disappointed, and it was hardly because he had liked The Club, or the people there. Was it this important to him, to show his master he could be of use? 

“If I take you, you will have to wear the bit. I’d rather not…” 

“I don’t care!” Taven interrupted, sounding determined. “I can wear that shit for hours now. I wanna show you I can do it. I _can_ do it.”

Nickel thought it over. Taven seemed motivated, and the bit would reduce the risks considerably. This time he would be much more cautious, too, and not let Taven out of his sight. Considering this, should he really deny the boy having some kind of purpose in this house? 

He smiled. “Well then,” he said. “We’ll go.


	34. A Serene Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paxterhobber, I think, thought Taven needed some more comfort than I gave the poor thing in the last chapters. so she drew a lovely sketch to give him just that! :-) You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/56854183).
> 
> Thank you so much, Paxterhobber, you _are_ spoiling me with these illustrations. :-) 
> 
> /Fran

Nickel slowly undid Taven’s braid from the end up, enjoying the feel of silky strands between his fingers and how the three lengths caught the light in red glimmers as they slithered apart. He didn’t take his eyes away from the beauty splayed out before him for a second while he shook out the last of the braid at Taven’s neck, and reached for the hairbrush on the table. 

Usually, Taven took care of his own hair. Nickel couldn’t think of a single appropriate situation in which a master would stoop to perform such acts as grooming the hair of his slave. If anything, it would be part of a personal slave’s job to help grooming their masters’, or mistresses’ hair – Nickel knew a few clan ladies who kept a slave for such things only – but damn it, he couldn’t help himself. 

Just looking at Taven’s hair flowing over his shoulders and back made his pulse quicken, not to mention touching it. Why should he deny himself such simple and innocent pleasure? No one saw them in Taven’s room, and if he wanted to indulge, it was nobody’s business but his own. 

He kept brushing long after any snags were gone, the hair under his hands a shiny wavy veil hanging from the boy’s head, accentuating his lithe frame. He crouched down, for the third or fourth time, combing the ends out, noting that maybe they needed to be trimmed – not much, only an inch, or two – but that it could surely wait, and then he started from the top again. 

Taven sighed, and restlessly shifted feet. Nickel thought the slave would find this behavior somewhat odd, as well, but he hadn’t protested when Nickel fetched the hairbrush, and told him to turn around. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” Nickel asked. “Am I pulling too hard?” He was trying to be gentle.

“Yeah, like… No,” Taven said. “It doesn’t hurt when you do it, Master, it’s just… Ain’t it done now?”

Nickel smiled, Taven was only bored. “I suppose,” he admitted, reluctantly putting the brush away, and making Taven turn back around to face him. “There! I guess we’re off then. Are you ready for this?” 

“Yeah,” Taven said, but he didn’t sound as determined as he had a few days ago. 

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Nickel said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. It had been Taven’s idea, after all, and this was no time to back out.

“No, Master,” Taven claimed, but he didn’t look up to meet his eyes, and it was clear _something_ wasn’t right. 

Again, Nickel pushed down his annoyance. “What’s wrong then? You can tell me. I promise I won’t be angry.”

Taven hung his head deeper and squirmed. “Are you gonna…” he started. “Like… I mean… Are you gonna drink tonight, too, Master?” he finally managed. 

Nickel was taken aback when he realized Taven was apparently more worried about his master’s behavior than he was of the actual party. 

In a sudden flash of understanding, he saw what the last visit to The Club must have been like, from Taven’s perspective. How would Nickel have felt if he was in someone else’s complete power, not fully knowing that person yet, or how they would behave when drunk, and was taken to an unfamiliar place, while said person had drink after drink… 

Nickel blushed, realizing what he’d actually done to Taven that night, and just look at how it had ended. He’d almost thrown up in the restroom, while he'd abandoned a helpless Taven to endure the filthy advances of men like Jan Steinbock. 

“Um…” Nickel squirmed, as well. “I… I’ll tell Bruno I’ll drive to The Club tonight myself.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven only briefly looked about the hall when they entered through the large twin doors he remembered from the last time at The Club. He was determined to stay one hundred percent attentive on his master at all times, and focus on nothing else than his work. The last few days they had practiced every afternoon, to brush up on his duties, and he knew what to do.

There was nothing to see he hadn’t seen before anyway, and there was nothing to be scared of, either. His master had told him he wouldn’t leave him alone this time, and before they had left the house, he had even as good as promised not to drink. Right? At least the man had changed his mind about the chauffeur. 

Taven wasn’t happy about the bit, and sure as hell didn’t look forward to wearing it for the whole damn night, but he could do it. He’d prepared for it, in his head, sort of, and his master hadn’t put it in until just before they’d taken the elevator up into the building, so he wouldn’t have to wear it a minute longer than necessary. He had stuffed his pockets with paper towels, too, since he couldn’t help saliva dribbling over his lips. It wasn’t impossible to swallow with the bit locked into his mouth, but it did make it more difficult. Well, the occasional drool didn’t matter; the bit didn’t show on the outside, so if he were quick and discreet with the paper towels, no one would know. 

Strange enough, a part of him was even relieved about the bit. Wearing it, he simply couldn’t do anything bad this time, right? His master had to be pleased with him after this. He just had to. 

Yeah, Taven would be fine, because he was fucking determined to show his master he wasn’t useless. That he was worth those 30 000, that he wasn’t garbage. 

Staying true to these intentions, Taven watched his master’s every move as he followed him out onto the floor. He walked only when his master did, and made sure to halt at the right distance whenever the man stopped to talk to someone. It _was_ fucking boring, though, and he couldn’t help the creeping restless feeling when he realized, the better he did tonight, the more similar nights out he would probably have to endure. Taven shook it; he was still determined to make his master pleased with him, for once. 

It didn’t take long before a waiter appeared before his master, offering a drink. Taven watched in unease, but to his relief the man simply waved the slave away. He exhaled; his master really wasn’t going to drink. 

Only a moment later, his master unnerved him again, by turning on his heels and pulling him close. “Oh no!” the man whispered in his ear, clearly annoyed with something. “That’s my cousin Leonard, over there.” He directed Taven’s gaze with a light hand under his chin. 

Taven looked; relieved the sudden pull at his arm didn’t mean he’d done something bad… and did a startled double take. 

Apart from being older, and having a neatly trimmed beard, the man his master indicated reminded so much of his owner it was hard to believe they were only cousins, and not actually brothers. Taven soon forgot to marvel the uncanny likeness, though, as his master’s cousin was also attended by a slave, a young girl about his own age. Taven couldn't help staring; the girl was the cutest fucking thing he'd seen in his life. 

“Oh, crap,” his master murmured in his ear, snapping him out of it. “He’s seen us. What is he doing here? He’s never here… Ah, damn, here he comes.” His master sighed deeply. “Don’t care about what he says, Taven, he just always has to… Leonard! Fancy seeing you here.”

To Taven’s surprise, his master changed his whole demeanor in less than a second as he turned to greet his clan member with a wide smile. The older replica of his owner smiled as widely and reached out to grab his master’s shoulders with both of his hands for a friendly shake. 

“Nickel! Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. It’s been months.”

“Months? It can’t be. We have to see more often. Isn’t Gertrude with you?”

“Ah, no, she has a migraine, or some ‘woman problem’ or another… Thought it safest not to ask… Had to get out of the house…” 

Taven stared at the friendly exchange. He could have sworn his master didn’t like his cousin. Well, it wasn’t like Taven cared. His attention was directed elsewhere.

He couldn’t help checking out the other lord’s pretty slave. She was a fine-limbed girl, dressed in a tiny white dress that showed off her tanned legs, she had short black hair in a page, and a pair of enormous dark eyes that were so beautiful Taven just couldn’t tear his own eyes off them. As weird and awkward as he felt in her presence, he hoped she would look back at him, but she didn’t. She didn’t once glance in his direction. Those amazing eyes were all the time glued to her master’s back only, and she never changed her demure stance. 

Taven gave up trying to catch her attention, and tried to focus on his own master again. He didn’t know why he felt so bitter that she ignored him. She only behaved the way she was supposed to, after all. The way he should behave, too. 

“You’re looking well,” his master’s cousin remarked, inspecting his master, still holding him by his shoulders. “All the ‘lettuce nibbling’ is keeping you in top shape, eh?”

His master didn’t answer, but his smile turned a bit strained. 

“What’s this then?” the other lord continued, mindless of any irritation his words might have caused. “You’ve been out shopping?”

Taven shifted feet where he stood, uneasy at the attention. The last he wanted was to be shown off again, but his master didn’t at all react like the last time, when that pretty lady had wanted to touch his hair. 

“As you can see,” was his master’s only answer, and this time the smile died out completely. 

The other lord raised his eyebrows. “Not pleased with your new acquisition?” he asked, peering curiously at them both.

“No, that’s not…” His master sighed. “Look, Leonard, next time you talk to father, don’t tell him, all right? I haven’t told him I bought a personal slave, and I don’t want him to know about it yet. So, would you do me a favor and not mention I did? I’d appreciate it.”

There was a twist in Taven’s stomach at these words. He knew next to nothing about his master’s father, but since the older lord had moved out, and didn’t seem to visit often, he hadn’t thought much of it either. There had always been other stuff to worry him. Now he learned his master had kept him a secret from his own father. 

Why? What would happen if the Head Lord knew?

The other lord grinned, and peered at them with even greater curiosity. “Oh? Well, if you don’t want me to… I won’t mention it with a word. However, for the life of me, I can’t understand why you would keep Uncle in the dark about such a trivial matter. What’s wrong with this redheaded little plaything then?”

Taven looked down. Right… Everything was of course wrong with him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” his master protested. “Not per se. It’s only, I bought him untrained, and you know what father’s like. I’ll tell him, of course, but I want to catch up on the boy’s training first.”

“Goodness, Nickel, buying an untrained attendant… Uncle would be so annoyed with you. How do you come up with these peculiar ideas? Gertrude would just kill me if I did something like that. Oh, if I was you, I wouldn’t worry so much about Uncle, after all, just count yourself lucky you aren’t married.” The other lord laughed.

His master didn’t laugh in return. “It’s not a problem, I’m training him myself, and…”

“Really?” the other lord interrupted. “Sounds like a tedious undertaking to me. I don’t know _where_ you get these ideas.” The man chuckled and chortled. “Though I suppose I can see how you weren’t able to resist this one, trained or not, a young little thing such as this, eh, with so much _hair_… Hm…” He winked knowingly. 

His master didn’t look happier at the obvious teasing. “Oh, you’re the one to talk, Leonard,” he retorted. “How old is your girl again?”

The other Wren lord gasped loudly. “Nickel! What _are_ you insinuating? Gertrude would _kill_ me.”

Yeah, right, Taven thought. Of course he was fucking that girl. 

His master rolled his eyes, too. “Well, if she hasn’t killed you yet… Seriously, can I trust you not to tell father?”

“Oh, when have you ever _not_ been able to trust me? I will not say a word; on my honor.” He put a fist to his heart. “Well then, with these non-matters out of the way… I’ll have you know, Gertrude is much more likely to kill _you_, these days. She’s pestering me all the time about dinner parties, and balls, and what not. I tell her to pester you instead. You’re the one who sits on the ball room, after all. And then she tells me she has, but that _you_, breaker of my wife’s heart, always manages to wiggle your way out of it.” 

“You know I’d detest hosting such spectacles,” his master said. 

“Who wouldn’t,” the other lord countered. “Still, would it kill you to…?”

“Leonard!” His master interrupted his cousin with an arm on the other lord’s shoulder. “You know I love Gertrude, but… No!”

“How about…?”

“No,” his master maintained. “No, listen…”

The two men kept bickering, bantering, and exchanging family gossip, and it wasn’t long until Taven simply tuned them out. It was all completely meaningless blabber to him, and he was only happy they seemed to have forgotten all about him.

Eventually, the other Wren lord dragged his master over to a larger group of people across the hall, and Taven dutifully followed. The pretty girl walked almost shoulder to shoulder with him, but still didn’t acknowledge his existence with as much as a single glance. When they halted, Taven demonstratively looked away, too, which was how he discovered the walrus man nearing the gathered group of lords and ladies, and, of course, he was attended by the tall blond slave his master had called ‘Serenity’, but… 

What the fuck was he wearing? 

Taven could do nothing else than stare with his mouth open. There wasn’t a trace of the sleek masculine suit the good-looking slave had worn the last time. Instead, the young man was wearing loose-fitting pants in a black shimmering material, which flowed around his long legs when he walked, paired with a matching bell-sleeved blouse. The blouse was so short it left his slender midriff bare, and instead of diamond studs, he wore long black silky tassels as earrings. The only thing that remained the same was the oddly bared feet, apart from the toenails that he'd painted brightly red. Taven could swear Serenity wore makeup, too.

What the fuck, was the guy actually _trying_ to look like a woman?

Taven had to look away, the sight made him uneasy and uncomfortable, in fact, he felt sick. 

Little girl panties, high heels, pantyhose, bras… More times than Taven could remember, drunken men visiting Swift’s place had forced him to wear such things. It always had everybody roar with laughter, and they had smeared lipstick in his face and taunted him for his girly looks and puny body. Usually it had ended with a rough fucking. It was as if some men turned hornier the more they could humiliate him. 

Taven shuddered at the memories, he simply couldn’t believe Serenity dressed like this voluntarily, and he couldn’t understand how he could look so damn at ease being showed off among people. 

It didn’t help Serenity was in no way less beautiful like this. 

Taven nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a hand on his shoulder, and he wasn’t happy when he discovered it belonged to Serenity. He looked up in confusion. His master had said attending slaves were never allowed to talk to each other in public. The pretty girl wouldn’t even look at him. 

If Serenity knew of this rule, he obviously didn’t care. “Hi,” he said, giving him a big smile, blue eyes sparkling along with his teeth. He looked over Taven’s shoulder and greeted the pretty girl as well. “Hey, Lucia,” he said, winking at her. 

The girl looked up, blushed hotly, and then immediately looked away without answering. Yeah, Taven thought, _him_ she looked at. 

Serenity ignored her and turned back to him. “It’s nice to see _you_ again,” he said, the sparkling smile widening.

Taven looked to his master, but he hadn’t noticed them. There seemed to be a heated discussion going on. The gathered lords and ladies were all trying to talk over each other, and some were gesturing vividly and nearly shouting. Serenity’s master had joined the others in the tight semicircle, which had spontaneously formed, and none of them seemed the least bit aware of their slaves’ existence. The blond slave had been quick in noting a situation he could take advantage of, to steal a few words with a fellow attendant. 

He nearly panicked. Taven wouldn’t have wanted to talk with Serenity in either case, but as it was, he, of course, wasn’t actually _able_ to. Serenity didn’t get a reply to his greeting. 

“Bored?” Serenity asked, misinterpreting his silence. “Yeah, I know, these nights just bores you to tears, don’t they? What I do, to get out of it, is faking a stomachache or some vague shit that won’t get the doctor called on me, but of course… Can’t do it too often or even the dumbest master will catch on eventually, right?” He grinned. “So,” he went on, too eager at the chance to chat it seemed to reflect on the lack of response. “You’re settling in nicely at the Wren Mansion then? I have to say, I was surprised. I didn’t think Nickel would actually… Not so soon… Well, you have no idea how lucky you are, though I suppose, by now, you do know, eh. Eh?” He kept grinning and knowingly nudged Taven in the upper arm with his elbow. 

Fuck, he was tall. 

Taven scowled up at Serenity, more annoyed by the second. Why couldn’t that guy just obey the damn rules and leave him the fuck alone? His jaw twitched with the urge to tell Serenity to _fucking piss off_. 

It finally seemed to dawn on Serenity something wasn’t quite right. “Well, you’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” he said. “Yeah, yeah, I know, we aren’t supposed to talk, but the way they’re carrying on, they’re not gonna notice if we chat for a minute or two, and… Aw, come on, you didn’t seem to be so damn mindful of the rules the last time. What? Nickel’s been on your case about it, or…?” 

If Taven had ever wished you really could kill someone with only a look, then this was it. Taven looked for his master again, and saw how he seemed to have tired of the still ongoing discussion, tried to retreat from the group, but was pulled in again. Yes. This was his way out. His master wanted to walk away, and he had to follow.

However, as soon as he took a step in his master’s direction, Serenity got in his way and refused to let him pass. “Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” He was obviously not going to stand for Taven ignoring him. 

Taven took a step to the side and tried to walk around the tall slave, but Serenity quickly cut in front of him again. “Oh, come on! What did I do? Just say ‘hi’!”

He gnashed his teeth, he just wanted to kill that idiot of a flagpole now, or at least kick him in the fucking balls, but… He wouldn’t. Taven had asked his master to take him here only so he could prove he could behave. He had to behave. Okay then, humiliating as it was, he would show the stupid bastard.

Taven opened his mouth and pulled at Serenity’s sleeve to get his attention. 

Serenity didn’t get it. “What?” he said, looking confused. “_What_?”

Near tears with frustrated anger, Taven opened his mouth wider, pointed at it, and jerked harder at Serenity’s sleeve. Puzzled, the tall slave leaned down and looked.

Serenity drew back almost instantaneously, staring at him with wide eyes. “What the fuck!” he exclaimed. “Is that…? I mean… What the fuck _is_ that?”

Taven shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. He couldn’t fucking explain, could he?

“That… It… It stops you from speaking?” Serenity asked. 

Taven nodded. Finally. 

“Damn! That- that’s… Does it come out?”

Taven nodded again.

“Oh, okay, but still… Fuck! Nickel did that? That’s just… How could he?” Serenity drew himself up to his full height, looking indignant. “I mean… That’s just cruel. I never thought Nickel could be such a bastard.” 

Some time back, Taven might have been only too eager to agree, but, for some reason, he was angry with Serenity instead. It had cost Taven to forgive his master. He didn’t need someone screwing with his head and making him confused about how he should feel. What the fuck did Serenity know anyway? He didn’t know a fucking thing about why his master had done this, and he had no fucking right to talk shit about the man. 

Again, Taven tried to leave to catch up with his master, but, Serenity seemed to have changed mood completely, from anger to pity, and before Taven had a chance to react, the other slave simply threw his arms around him and hugged him. 

“Damn!” he repeated, crushing Taven to his chest. “Poor, _poor_ you!”

That was just too much. Taven saw red, and without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted his foot and slammed it down on one of Serenity’s bare feet, grinding his heel in his perfectly lacquered toes. 

Serenity’s agonized yell could have woken the dead. 

It sure put a sudden stop to the heated discussion. As on cue, all the lords and ladies fell silent and turned to stare at them, and, squeezing himself between two men, came his master, angrily striding toward them. 

Oh, he’d fucked up now.

However, it wasn’t Taven the man turned to first. “For goodness sake, Serenity,” his master said. “What on earth is the matter with you? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Serenity couldn’t answer. He was hopping on one leg, clutching his foot, flushed red in the face, and cursing under his breath. 

The walrus man came up to them next, and he didn’t look happy either. He gave Taven a suspicious glare while he put an arm around his slave’s slender waist and let Serenity lean on his shoulder for support. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. 

His master only shook his head, looking confused. Yeah, Taven thought, his owner had of course no answer, but Serenity would. 

He hung his head, looking away from the walrus man’s angry eyes and the judgmental stares of the gathered people. Serenity only needed a moment and then he would tell them what Taven had done. He could imagine the disappointed look on his master’s face only too well, and he knew what the man would think. He _was_ worthless, and not even gagging him would help.

Taven would always find a way to fuck up.

“What happened, boy?” the walrus man asked, rubbing Serenity’s back in comfort. “Are you hurt?”

Serenity tested his foot, still leaning on the old lord. “Um… Nothing happened, Master,” he said, wiping pain tears from his eyes, smearing his eyeliner and mascara. “I’m fine. I just… I stubbed my toes.”

Walrus man looked suspicious still. “Stubbed your toes? What on earth did you stub your toes on, boy? There are no chairs here, no table legs… The floor is smoother than ice on a pond. There’s nothing here.” 

“I _stubbed my toes_,” Serenity stubbornly repeated. It was obvious he was going to stick to his story. “What can I say? I’m a klutz. I just… I stubbed them, on… something.”

Walrus man frowned still, but didn’t push it. “Well then, boy, we’ll go see to it. Some ice should do the trick, but… Do try to contain yourself a bit in the future, dear. You did almost startle us all to death.”

“Yes, Master, I’m sorry,” Serenity answered, hanging his head, too. He stepped out of the old lord’s hold to bow deeply before the still staring group of people. “Sirs… Ma’am… My Lady… I- I’m very sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle anyone, or interrupting anything. I’m sorry,” he repeated, bowing even deeper. 

No one seemed to think they needed to acknowledge this apology, and there were no replies, only pointed stares. However, it did seem to make people lose interest in the whole thing. They turned away and resumed their chatting. 

The walrus man put a stout arm around Serenity’s small waist once more. “That’s a good boy!” he said. “I’ll take you to the kitchens. The slaves will have some ice for you. Nickel, if you’ll excuse me…” he added, somewhat curtly, and walked off. 

Taven watched Serenity limping away, supported by the walrus man, but the blond slave hadn’t taken many steps before he looked back over his shoulder – the silky black tassels flying – and winked at him, a wide cheeky grin on his face. Not until then did it sink in how Serenity had lied about the whole thing, and how fake his humble apology had been. 

He frowned in confusion. Taven couldn’t think of a single reason why Serenity wouldn’t tell on him, when he’d just nearly crushed the guy’s toes. It didn’t make any sense at all. 

Taven dared glance up at his master. The man looked at him with the same suspicion. Had he seen Serenity’s grin, too? Did he understand what had really happened? If that was the case, he didn’t say anything. His master only ordered him to resume his position and focus on his work. 

He obeyed.

\-----o0o-----

They didn’t stay long after that, but Taven didn’t know if it was because of what had happened or if his master was bored with the party and would have left early anyway. The man did seem to be in a weird mood, not angry, but not entirely pleased either, not speaking with him. In the elevator down, Taven was worried his master wouldn’t take the bit out until they got home or maybe not even then. He’d been told it wasn’t for punishment, but, masters changed their mind all the time, and the slave had better not say shit about it.

Taven hadn’t needed to worry. His master took the bit out outside the car, but then he surprised himself with climbing into the passenger seat wishing the man _hadn’t_ taken it out. He feared he would have to explain himself. 

“Well,” his master said as they drove out into the streets. “I’d say it went fairly well tonight. Wouldn’t you say so, too, boy?” The man briefly looked away from the road and smiled at him. 

Taven didn’t feel the least bit calmed, and didn’t answer.

“However…” his master continued.

Taven shrunk in the passenger seat. He’d known there would be a fucking ‘however’. 

“You stepped on Serenity’s foot, didn’t you?” his master said.

“I didn’t…” 

“I would advise you to _not_ lie to me at this point, slave!” his master interrupted.

Taven sat up straight in the seat. “I wasn’t gonna lie,” he protested. “I just… I did kinda do it, but- but… It wasn’t my fault, Master. _He_ started it.”

To Taven’s surprise, his master seemed to believe him right away. He nodded. “Yes, I figured as much. Serenity usually starts most things. Well, then, what did he do?”

“Uh… He tried to get me to break the rules. I was just trying to act right, Master, I swear, like you taught me. He came up to me and started blabbering and shit, and tried to get me to talk with him. I tried to go to you, but he wouldn’t let me, and it wasn’t as if I could tell him to fuck off, you know. I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to hurt him, or anything. I just wanted him to leave me alone, so I could do my work.”

His master kept nodding. “Sounds like Serenity, all right,” he said. “Look, Taven, I know Serenity. He’s spoiled and much too clever for his own good. Serenity is quite adept at appearing to toe the line while breaking every rule in sight. I only wish he wouldn’t try to tempt other slaves to do the same, especially less privileged ones.

“Well, Serenity is Lord Engel’s favorite, and you don’t know how lucky we are he lied about this. Not that I believed him for a second, and I highly doubt Lord Engel did either. The old man might look funny, but he’s not a fool. I know Constantine well, too. He only let this go, I’m sure, because he didn’t want an open conflict with me, and because Serenity, in his own way, begged him not to make a big affair of it.” 

His master kept throwing glances at him, which looked more serious each time. “I know Serenity can be annoying, but… Don’t do this again, Taven. Next time, Lord Engel will most likely demand I punish you, and I do _not_ want to be forced to beat you.” 

Taven stared. “He- he can do that?”

“Not really, but this is clan politics. See, the Engel clan is our closest neighbors. The Wren’s and the Engel’s have been good friends for hundreds of years. Constantine is the Head Lord of the Engel clan. If I let you do bad things to his slaves, especially if it happens more than once, and then refused to punish you, it might do harm to this old and important friendship. Do you understand?”

Taven swallowed hard, and slumped down in the seat again, nodding. He understood, all right. No way would not beating him half to death be more important than all this ancient friendship shit. Taven wouldn’t do it again, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off at Serenity. The tall slave might have saved his ass, but he was also the one who had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Taven wanted to get back at him. 

“Serenity talked a lot of shit, too, Master,” he murmured, “about you.”

His master stopped at a red light and turned to him with a sharp look. “What? What did he tell you?”

Taven startled. His master hadn’t seemed angry until just now. “He… He kinda said you’re a bastard,” Taven answered. 

The man frowned deeply.”_What_? What on earth would make him say a thing like that?” 

“`Cause I, kinda, showed him the bit. He was all over me, and shit, `cause I didn’t talk to him, and I just showed him, and… He called you a bastard… `cause of the bit.”

“Oh,” his master said, the anger seemingly gone again. “Well, Serenity doesn’t know what he’s talking about, does he? Don’t care about what he says, Taven. I sure don’t. You should only listen to me, boy, and I’ll tell you… You did well tonight. I’m pleased with you.”

Taven sat up straight again. “Really? Like… Really?”

His master smiled at him. “Yes,” he said. “Really!”


	35. An Engel, Not an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I'm only posting one chapter tonight, it is about twice as long as most of my chapters, so counting in words, you'll get about as much text here as if I had made a double post.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Leaovo has again bestowed upon me, fanart. :-) Go take a look at it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/57191593#workskin)! You will not regret a visit, believe me. Leaovo illustrated a scene from chapter nine with no less then seven watercolor paintings, playing out the whole scene with so much movement and feeling. It's quite something.
> 
> Thanks so much, leaovo, for doing something so cool for this story. 
> 
> Leaovo also made an illustration for this chapter, and it's so raw and touching! Go see that one [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/57661201#workskin)!
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> PaxterHobber, too, keeps spoiling me with the cutest drawings. :-) This time, she sketched Taven together with his "idiot friend of a flagpole". :-D Go take a look [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/57496543)!
> 
> /Fran

Nickel turned his phone off with a bemused expression. 

This was the second time in only a few days Serenity had called him, and he wasn’t sure what to think. Before approaching him at The Club, the slave hadn’t tried to contact him for more than a year, in full accordance with Nickel’s order at the time. Nickel had in no way revoked this order, but maybe Serenity thought a year had softened his resolve and abated his anger so much the slave even dared calling him.

Maybe it had. At least Nickel hadn’t turned the phone off in Serenity’s ear the first time he’d called and begged him to listen. Serenity had been quick to explain he didn’t intend to bother him; he only wanted to see Taven.

Nickel didn’t know what to think about that either, but he’d remembered then how Serenity had expressed such a wish already at the first visit to The Club. Although he couldn’t remember having given Serenity a reason to think it would actually happen, Serenity’s claim he hadn’t told him a definite no either, was probably correct. Apparently, he’d at least promised he would think about it.

Well, he’d told Serenity he would think about it some more, and then he _had_ turned the phone off in the slave’s ear. Nickel sighed, only Serenity would take such a dismissal as an invitation to call again only a few days later, which he had just done. However, between these two calls, this time, Nickel had actually thought about it. 

Serenity was bored, Nickel thought, and saw a chance to have a friend, which was something Nickel was in no way obliged to provide him with.

Normally though, Nickel would have been more than open to the idea of letting Taven spend time with another attendant. It was common, after all, to have skilled slaves teach unskilled ones, and Serenity was skilled. Trained as a personal slave and attendant since he was nine years old, he was far from a pretty face only. Serenity was clever, too, and could easily think of new ways to help Taven learn, Nickel was sure. There were probably aspects of slave training that only another slave could really understand, in any case.

At this stage in Taven’s training, when he’d actually started to get somewhere, and was motivated to try harder and behave, the mentorship of an older experienced attendant would have been both beneficial, and appreciated. He was sure Constantine wouldn’t have minded occasionally lending Serenity out for such a purpose. 

Nickel frowned. Even so, Serenity wouldn’t be his first choice. 

Though Nickel couldn’t deny Serenity did indeed possess a few excellent traits, he was also afflicted with a whole slew of sins that Nickel believed wouldn’t be a good influence on a boy like Taven. Serenity might be skilled in many kinds of personal service, but he was also irresponsible and reckless. He might be smarter than most other slaves were, but he was unmotivated and lazy, and never did anything he didn’t have to. What’s more, Serenity was a gossipy busybody, and a disobedient, vain, shallow and wanton _liar_.

Still, at Serenity’s second call, and in spite of all his misgivings, Nickel had told him yes. 

He sighed again; annoyed with how he’d given in, but at least he hadn’t done so without a long list of strict rules and conditions. Nickel had laid down the law over the phone, in detail, and told Serenity exactly what he could and couldn’t do together with Taven, and exactly what he could and couldn’t talk about. 

Serenity had listened closely, dutifully repeated every rule, and had sounded serious enough as he promised to follow every one of them, to the letter. He’d declared he understood he would only be given one chance, and wouldn’t be allowed to spend time with Taven again if he broke even one of these rules. 

He had sounded sincere enough and Nickel had found it hard not to believe him. Maybe the last year had seen the spoiled slave growing up some. Just maybe this would turn out to be good for Taven, after all. 

Nickel had promised Serenity he could take Taven back to the Engel Mansion tomorrow, for a few hours of talking and getting to know one another, and he supposed it was silly of him to think anything bad could happen under Constantine’s roof. Besides, if he noticed Taven’s behavior worsening, then all deals were off. 

Serenity _wouldn’t_ get a second chance.

\-----o0o-----

After classes Taven was usually sent out into the gardens, or to the gym, but today his master brought him down the stairs and deeper into the large building.

Not long ago the man had taken him on a ‘tour’ through the older parts of the house and had showed him a lot of ancient stuff, like vases, and large furniture, mirrors, statues and paintings, huge collections of bladed weapons, and what not. Taven _had_ marveled at all the ornate stuff he’d seen, but since his master insisted on relating the history of every single fucking object they passed, it had also soon turned murderously boring. 

Well, just like that time, his master seemed secretive and smiley today, as if there was a treat waiting for him, hidden somewhere in an obscure room, while Taven feared there would only be another long tour through the mansion. Last time they hadn’t even made it through the first floor of the east wing, after all. There were plenty left to see, his master had informed him. 

There was no ‘treat’ waiting on the other side of the door his master urged him to open, quite the other way around. The tall young man, languidly leaning back in an old armchair inside, was normally dressed this time, but was still immediately recognizable. Serenity. 

Taven stopped dead in his tracks on the threshold. 

He could think of only one reason Serenity was here. His master was going to make him apologize for stepping on the guy’s foot. Taven knew protesting only ever made things worse, but there was no way he could keep his mouth shut at that. “I ain’t going to my knees for _him_.” He stated loudly. “I ain’t gonna apologize. _He_ started it.” If his master hadn’t been standing right behind him, he would have turned and walked away. 

Taven expected Serenity to protest in his turn, but the other slave surprised him. Serenity only smiled. “Oh, you can talk again,” he said. “Really, Master, that was just cruel.”

His master grumpily huffed behind him. “It was also none of your business,” he said. He gently pushed Taven into the room. “You don’t have to apologize,” he explained. “Serenity is the one who’s going to apologize.” He walked up to the chair and stared down at Serenity. "Well?” he demanded.

Serenity looked back up, and his smile didn’t falter for a second. “Yes, of course, Master. Taven, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered in your work, or tried to make you do things you’re not allowed to. I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble. It’s just… Seeing a new face, I was perhaps a bit too eager to make you feel welcome, and… Well, I am sorry. I’m never going to do it again.”

Taven eyed Serenity with suspicion. He wasn’t sure he should believe a single word of that. “Um… Okay,” he said, insecure about how to react, or how to answer such a thing. 

Serenity seemed to take it as ‘apology accepted’. “Great!” he said, smiling wider. “Well, your master says you can come home with me for an hour or two, so… Should we go?”

What? Taven had absolutely no idea what the fuck that blond flagpole was talking about. He turned to his master for an explanation, but what Serenity had just said made so little sense to him he didn’t even know what to ask. 

His master seemed to understand anyway. “Serenity asked my permission to spend time with you,” he explained. “I’ve allowed it. It’s all right, Taven, he only wants to get to know you and make friends.”

Make friends? Taven had still no idea what the fuck this was. He wouldn’t know how to ‘make friends’ in any case, and he sure as hell didn’t want to leave the house. “I… Master, do I have to?” he tried, prepared to beg harder, or even make a scene, if it would help him avoid this.

His master’s expression softened and Taven was sure the man was going to listen, but Serenity interfered.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he said, and he looked so fucking smug and grinned so condescendingly that Taven just wanted to punch him in the face.

The fact was, Serenity _was_ sort of intimidating, but when it came to shitheads like him, Taven would rather die than admit it. “I’m not scared,” he yelled. “You- you fucking _idiot_, and- and…” 

“Taven! What kind of language is this?” his master admonished him. 

He looked down, biting back whatever else he’d been about to say. He was still seething with anger, but he wasn’t sure if the other slave’s presence might count as a reason to get the bit out.

“I ain’t scared,” he muttered, still not able to leave it entirely.

“Good!” Serenity said. “Then you’ll come? I have no evil plans, I promise. I just thought we could hang out at my place and talk some. Get to know each other, things like that, you know?”

No, Taven _didn’t_ know. No master he’d ever heard of would let their slaves just have a nice time, which actually seemed to be what Serenity was talking about here. He refused to believe his master didn’t intend to get something out of this, so why the hell couldn’t they just explain to him what the fuck was going on? He hesitated.

Serenity leaned back in the chair and laughed a little. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, don’t you? Still… So shy. How cute is that? I still say you’re scared of me, you’re just trying to hide it.” 

Taven’s anger flared up with renewed intensity, but his master cut in before he had a chance to act on it.

“That’s enough, Serenity,” he warned. “He doesn’t understand your moronic sense of humor.”

His master turned his back on the other slave. “He’s only teasing,” he said. “Serenity is an experienced attendant, in spite of his inappropriate blabbering, and I thought if you got to know each other, you could learn from him. At least there’s no harm in trying. However, if this makes you uncomfortable, I suppose I stand nothing to gain by forcing you. Serenity _is_ only inviting you over for a chat, boy, but… I’ll let you decide for yourself if you want to go, or not.”

He could decide? Taven wanted to say no right away, but somehow he thought better of it. His master _did_ have a reason for all this shit. This calmed him. At least things made sense now, and here was a chance to please his master, too. Besides, both of them seemed to think he was some kind of weak shit, who was scared of everything, and it still fucking pissed him off.

“I’ll go, Master,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Taven hadn’t thought about how Serenity had gotten here or how far off the Engel Mansion might be. He guessed he’d assumed his master would drive them there, or that Lord Engel had a chauffeur of his own who had taken Serenity. He was very surprised when Serenity led the way over to a sleek white sports car, parked in front, and simply got in behind the wheel. Serenity had to lean over, push open the door at the passenger side, and tell him to get in to snap him out of it.

“_You_ can drive?” Taven asked, leaning back in the seat and reaching for the seat belt.

“Sure,” Serenity said, turning the key in the ignition. “Why not? It’s not as if it’s difficult, or anything. Hey, maybe I can show you how some day.”

They exited the gates, but Serenity didn’t follow the avenue down to the main road, but turned off at a smaller dirt road and went into the woods behind the mansion. 

As soon as they were out of sight, Serenity stepped on the gas. He drove along the narrow winding roads like a maniac, dangerously cutting curves, leaving huge dust clouds behind them. Taven’s hands clutched the seat and his feet braced against the floor. He would have barked at Serenity to slow the fuck down, seeing big trees and boulders rushing past the windows frightfully close, but he couldn’t get a word out. He’d never gone this fast in his life, and he didn’t know if it was exciting, or if he was about to pee his fucking pants. 

Serenity didn’t slow down until the dark forests opened up into a wide landscape of billowing fields. “The Engel Mansion!” he announced, pointing ahead. 

Taven saw a large and tall building in the distance, built inside a circle of old trees on top a low hill, its white walls practically gleaming in the sun. 

“It’s much bigger and nicer than the Wren Mansion,” Serenity said, sounding as proud as if it was his own house. “Of course, it’s newer, more modern. There used to be an old murky building here before, too, but it burned down some sixty years ago, and they built this instead. Yeah, Nickel and his old dad _are_ probably richer, but Constantine has easily the coolest house. It has an indoor pool and everything. The Wren Mansion has nothing like that. It’s just a stale old museum.”

Taven had to agree, the smaller Wren Mansion did look somewhat murky in comparison, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. 

They reached the main gate at the foot of the hill only a moment later, and Serenity parked the car outside a freestanding building just inside the wall, a small red brick cottage. “Well, maybe one day I can show you what the mansion is like inside,” he said, flinging the car door open. “But for now, you’ll have to make do with the old gate-keeper’s lodge, because that’s where I live.” 

Taven got out of the car on unsteady legs, still reeling from the speed. Yeah, like hell he would ever let _Serenity_ teach him how to fucking drive.

Serenity unlocked the front door while Taven looked the building over. The cottage had ivy growing all over it, had a tall chimney, and green-painted shutters. This was where Serenity lived? It looked like something out of those fairy tale books his master made him read. 

“Yeah,” Serenity said, noticing how he stared. “I know, it doesn’t exactly look like it suits me, does it. It’s so small and old-fashioned. I’m not complaining though, it’s comfortable and cozy. It has a working fireplace and all. I like it.”

Taven didn’t answer. He had no idea what the fuck Serenity was on about, and he was too awed to say a word in any case. He’d thought it would be the height of luxury, for any slave, to have a room with a bathroom all to themselves, like he had, but this guy had a whole house? What did it matter if it was old and tiny, it was a _fucking house_. 

Serenity showed him in and led the way into a small living room. 

Taven looked about, it didn’t look like a house a young man would live in; even he could see that. Everything was old in here. He walked up to a built in bookcase and ran a finger over the spines. It came away covered in dust. He tried to read some of the titles aloud. “Math- e- e… Natural s- see- enses… Elam- tary grammer…” Schoolbooks? ”Now way these are yours,” he sneered.

Serenity almost looked offended. “They are too! I can read very well, thank you, and that’s ‘mathematics’, ‘natural _sciences_’ and ‘_elementary_ grammar’. They’re mine, all right, but it’s not as if I ever open them these days. God, reading books… Is there anything more boring?” He rolled his eyes. “But, hey! You can read, too?”

“Yeah,” Taven murmured, still pretending to look at the books. “Master’s teaching me.”

“Really?” Serenity said. “Nickel is teaching you himself? Well, he’s always been kinda weird like that. I know he had all the workers and maids taught when he took over the estate, but of course, he didn’t do it himself. He had some of the older house slaves taking turn in teaching the whole lot of them, small groups at a time. He told me all about it. Quite a logistical feat. Constantine would never bother with shit like that. Of course, some slaves in the house need to read, but all the workers… Total waste of time. Your master has some strange ideas, you know. 

“I was taught as part of my privileges, of course, but it wasn’t like Constantine would have bothered with it. He got me a tutor. God, I hated that old bastard. The tutor, I mean, not Constantine, of course. He was such a fucking old crank. Can you believe he once whacked me with that damn pointer of his? I had a welt and bruises on my shoulder for a week. Constantine was livid. I don’t know what he said to the man, but believe me, he never did _that_ again.” Serenity sounded unbearably proud and smug. 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Taven said, turning away from the bookcase, “that you were whacked, _once in your whole fucking life_.” 

The sarcasm was obviously not lost on Serenity. He even had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, or even ashamed. “Um… You weren’t trained for the clans, were you? I mean with that accent, and… You were owned by commoners? I guess, out there, some are tough even on slaves like us, eh?”

“A bit, yeah!” Taven wasn’t letting up on the sarcasm.

“Ah… Well… Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get us something to drink.” 

Serenity didn’t seem to want to know more about it, he simply turned and slipped out of the room. Taven sneered at his back. What a fucking bastard. What was he doing here? Why hadn’t he told his master no when he’d been given the option. 

Well, he _was_ here, and he couldn’t get back home until Serenity took him, so he might as well do as suggested and take a seat. Taven slumped down in a large upholstered armchair, and Serenity returned only a moment later. 

He brought two opened bottles and gave one to Taven. Taven sipped it. It was soda, and it was ice cold, sparkly, and tasted sweet and fruity. He tried not to gulp it down too fast, he’d better savor this, the chances were slim he’d ever have one again. 

Serenity leaned back in an identical chair just across from Taven’s and pulled up his long legs under him, burrowing into a large pillow at his back with a content sigh. He reminded of a big lazy cat. 

It was quiet at first. Taven had never done this before, and had no idea what was expected of him. Was he supposed to start this ‘chat’, somehow? He didn’t say a word. 

Serenity smiled and occasionally sipped his soda, staring at him. “So,” he finally said, breaking the awkward silence. “Where, exactly, were you then, before Nickel bought you?” 

Taven felt his ears go hot. If Serenity didn’t know, then no way would he ever mention a word about Swift, or his former life in the South End, not to someone like him. “None of your _fucking_ business,” he growled. 

Serenity was obviously not easily intimidated. “Okay,” he said, seemingly completely unaffected by his guest’s virulent reply. “So, how old are you?” he tried instead.

Taven shrugged his shoulders. “How the fuck should I know? Fifteen? Sixteen? Something…?”

Serenity stared. “You don’t know… Uh, okay, so… ‘Taven’ isn’t your real name though, is it? I know that was Nickel’s brother, and it’s not exactly a common name, so… Nickel just went ahead and renamed you, eh? Has to feel pretty shitty to get used to a new name at your age and…” 

Taven slammed the bottle down on the coffee table between their chairs so hard some of the soda spilled. “Look, you fucking idiot,” he yelled, unable to curb the sudden anger welling up inside of him. “I didn’t have a fucking name, and what my former masters called me, you’d peed in your pants if you heard, so just shut the fuck up! And why the fuck are you calling him ‘Nickel’ for?”

For a moment, Serenity stared at him with his mouth open, but his smile soon returned. “Uh, because it’s his name? Granted, it’s a weird one, but it is nevertheless his name.”

“I know what his fucking name is,” Taven yelled. “Don’t call him that!” 

“Sheesh,” Serenity said. “You’re a testy one, aren’t you? Well, Nickel… Oops, forgive me, _Master_ Nickel, warned me you aren’t exactly the friendly outgoing type, so… Not gonna take your little outbursts personally.” He smiled widely again. 

Taven glared at him.

Serenity ignored it. “Well, it’s painfully obvious you don’t like to talk about yourself,” he continued. “So let’s skip that for the moment and go straight to _my_ favorite subject. _Me_!” 

Taven kept glaring until Serenity’s stupid grin finally died out. 

“Jesus, you really don’t have a sense of humor, do you?” Serenity sighed and shook his head. “I’m serious though; there must be something you want to know? Come on, ask me anything!”

Taven wanted so badly to tell Serenity he didn’t want to know a fucking thing about him, but it would be about the biggest lie he’d ever told. “What about _your_ name?” he finally asked. “I mean, you shouldn’t talk about weird names. ‘Serenity’ ain’t even a name, it’s just a word.”

Serenity looked only the tiniest bit miffed. “I suppose,” he admitted. “At least it’s a nice word. Constantine himself came up with it, you know. He thought it fit my ‘elfin looks’, or something to that effect. Well, it was years ago, when I was still just a kid.” He laughed. “I’m not overly elfin anymore. Way too tall.”

“What was it before?” Taven wanted to know.

Serenity squirmed a little in his chair. “My old name? Oh, I hardly even remember. It was just something generic, like ‘Bobby’ or something similarly vapid and boring. At least ‘Serenity’ is unique and interesting.”

Taven rolled his eyes. ‘Unique and interesting Serenity’ was really only ‘generic Bobby’. Good to know. “Okay, so, how old are _you_ then?” Taven went on, finding it easiest at the moment to simply echoing Serenity’s earlier questions back at him. 

“I turned twenty three last October,” Serenity informed him. “Great day! Constantine gave me…” he silenced abruptly, looking somewhat embarrassed, as if he thought it would probably be rude to describe his latest birthday, and the presents he seemed to have gotten, to someone who didn’t even know how old he was. “Ah, never mind!”

Taven pretended not to notice. “Does your master really let you call him by name like that?” he asked instead, changing the subject. 

“Not really,” Serenity admitted. “Constantine is the sweetest old man, you know, when you’re alone with him, and he isn’t at all strict with me, but… A Head Lord of the older generation, they’re just always irrationally conservative on _some_ point, though, between slaves like us, when no one else can hear… Admit it feels damn good talking like this.”

Taven surprised himself with slowly nodding. He did know what Serenity meant. If Taven would ever as much have tried to call Swift by name, he was sure the fucking sadist would have given him a fist to his face hard enough to lop his head off his shoulders. He hadn’t even dared _think_ things back then. It wasn’t until after several days at the slave market, when he’d finally believed Swift wouldn’t come back, that he’d started to disrespect the man in that way, at least inside his head. Yeah, it did feel good. However, he didn’t want to talk about Swift with Serenity. 

“What do you mean, ‘slaves like us’?” he asked instead. 

Serenity raised a finely arched eyebrow. “Well, you know; personal slaves, attendants, exotics like you, exceptionally good-looking ones… like me.” He grinned widely. “We are a bit higher up on the ladder than the house slaves, after all, and way above any worker!” Serenity sniffed contemptuously. “There are much less of us, too. We should stick together!” 

Taven shrank back in the chair, uncomfortable with this kind of talking. What the fuck did Serenity think his guest was? He had nothing in common with Serenity, and sure as hell didn’t want to ‘stick with him’. 

“Of course,” Serenity continued. “_I_ have special privileges, so I’m a little bit higher up still, but it’s not like I’d hold it against other attendants, like you.” He winked at him.

Taven glared. Could that guy _be_ any more full of himself? “Oh yeah? What the fuck kind of previ… Pre- prev… What the fuck makes _you_ so fucking special?” he sputtered angrily. 

Serenity laughed at him. “Calm down, Taven, I’m only teasing you. It’s true though. I do have special privileges. There’s a contract, and everything. It’s an ancient clan thing, and there aren’t that many of us anymore. There’s no one else in the Engel clan, and your master’s clan have none. Around here, the Moon clan has a few, and the Steinbock’s have one, too, but… They’re all women, and they aren’t letting me into their little ‘circle’ on account of me, you know, having a cock, so… Yeah, sometimes it gets kind of ‘lonely at the top’.” 

“That why you don’t have a tag?” Taven asked, ignoring Serenity’s complaints. 

Taven’s fingers went to his left ear as he spoke, fingering the round metal disc, about the size of a coin, which pegged backside had once been pushed through his earlobe. It was riveted to a smaller disc on the other side, which would prevent a slave from pulling it out. Taven had tried; you couldn’t do it unless you ripped your ear. They must have marked him when he was only a baby, because he had no memory of it. The slave tag had simply always been there, and was by now green and tarnished with age. You could still make out a series of numbers imprinted along its rim, but no one had ever told him what they meant. All slaves Taven had ever seen had been marked in the same way, and at their first meeting he’d immediately noticed – his eyes drawn to the sparkling diamond studs – how Serenity wasn’t. 

His master had laughed at him, but was it so strange Taven had mistaken Serenity for a free man?

Serenity mimicked his movement, and pulled at his jeweled earlobe. “I used to have one, too,” he said. “But, yeah, it’s because of my privileges I don’t have to wear it. I had my other ear pierced, too, shortly after he took it out, and Constantine bought me these to celebrate. They’re still my favorite pair. Can’t say I’m not happy about that shit being taken out, I mean, a slave tag doesn’t go with anything, does it?” He grinned. 

Taven was puzzled. “You haven’t always had these pre- privy…?”

“_Privileges_,” Serenity filled in. “No, you can’t be born with them. Constantine set up the contract when I was fifteen, and that is early, but yeah, there was a time before. I wasn’t even born in this house. The Engel estate has several tenant farmers and one of them owned me first. It wasn’t bad there, the farmer treated me well, and his wife spoiled me with cookies, and everything. Treated me like a right pet, they did.” He smiled surprisingly tenderly at this memory. 

“Then Constantine came by one day, and when he saw me… I was only nine, but he bought me on the spot. He raised me in his service, had me properly trained, and gave me the privileges a few years later. To be honest though, he treated me so well from day one they didn’t make much of a difference.” 

Again, Serenity looked unbearably proud and smug. 

“Yeah? You’ve been treated so damn good, why do you have those scars?” Taven remarked and pointed. 

Having known Serenity only for a short time, Taven had still noticed something they seemed to have in common, after all. No matter the summer heat outside today, no matter how scantily dressed many of the other attendants had been at The Club, Taven had only ever seen Serenity wearing long sleeves. However, here, in his own home, relaxing in his chair, babbling and gesturing vividly, his sleeves had pulled up somewhat, and Taven had spotted the reason. 

Serenity’s wrists were badly scarred. 

For the first time Serenity looked shaken, and quickly pulled his hands into his sleeves. Taven thought he’d finally succeeded in provoking the other slave, or make him avoid the question altogether, but, Serenity surprised him again. 

It didn’t seem to take him any effort at all to school his expression into one of carefree indifference again. “Oh, these?” he said, now almost making a show of pulling his sleeves up and reaching his hands out to Taven. “Well, Constantine didn’t do this. It happened when I was brought here. Constantine didn’t take me with him the day he bought me, he sent a slave from the mansion to pick me up a few days later. The farm was almost two miles away, but for some reason the man didn’t take a truck. Maybe he wanted a nice walk, what do I know? Anyway, when he came I was, kind of, a bit upset to leave the farm. You know, I was just a kid, and I didn’t understand I’d been sold. Back then, the farm was all I knew, and the nice wife, and the cookies, and all that.” He gave up a short and embarrassed laugh. 

“To be honest, I was scared witless. I had no idea where I was going, and of course, I had no way of knowing what a good man Constantine would be. I was hysterically clinging to anything I could get hold of and the slave he’d sent didn’t exactly turn out to be the patient kind…” Serenity quieted, but seemed to force himself to go on.

“That bastard had brought chains, and he used them. He cuffed me, and dragged me two miles through the woods, on those fucking chains. I had blood up to my elbows when we finally got here…” Again Serenity silenced, his eyes dropping to his hands, fisting in his lap. There was absolute and unflinching hatred in them when he looked up again. “Yeah, that was the biggest mistake of his life. Constantine was furious. I never knew what he did to that slave, but believe you me, I never saw him again.” 

The hateful expression disappeared so quickly Taven was unsure he’d even seen it. “Well,” Serenity continued, grinning wider than ever, holding his hands up. “A little flaw just accentuates perfection, wouldn’t you say?”

Taven feigned indifference. It wasn’t that he was completely unaffected by the image Serenity’s tale conjured up, of a hysterically crying kid being dragged through the woods by his chained and bloody wrists, scared out of his mind. He wasn’t, but he’d been through more, and worse. If those wrist scars were the only flaws on Serenity’s body, then he should count himself fucking lucky. Besides, he didn’t trust Serenity nearly enough to return the confidence. 

“Yeah, I bet your master just loved how ‘perfect’ you were,” he sneered. “Like, he just took you and popped your cherry at nine, eh?”

Serenity stared at him. “What? Are you fucking nuts? No, for goodness sake! He didn’t touch me back then, though as soon as I turned fifteen, he sure did.” Serenity smiled innocently. “It was very romantic. He gave me the privileges, removed my tag, bought me diamond earrings, and then… He ever so gently took my virginity.” 

The tall slave's starry-eyed expression at this memory proved to be a complete fake when the second after he burst out laughing. “Yeah, that’s what _he_ thought, anyway. By then I’d already lost it a year ago. Twice! First, it was that kitchen maid, when I’d just turned fourteen, and a few months later, the gardener’s youngest boy showed me a thing or two. That slave… Can you believe it? He _still_ mopes about giving me puppy eyes. He’s cute though, he is, but come on… A worker? You’d think he’d got it by now it’s not likely _he’s_ ever gonna get to hump this perfect ass again.” 

Serenity was laughing, but then it was as if a terrible realization came over him and cut his amusement short. “Oh my God,” he said. “They… Did they do that to you? They did _that_ to you, when you were that small?”

Taven blanched. “It was _me_ who was gonna ask the fucking questions,” he yelled.

Again, Serenity stared at his outburst, but there were no grins or teasing smiles this time, only a sad expression of pity. 

Taven felt himself flush red. He hadn’t wanted Serenity to know about his former life, well, yelling like this, he wasn’t fooling anyone, was he? He’d just given Serenity as clear an answer as he could have ever hoped for, and Taven had no idea how to salvage this stupid blunder. He slammed down the soda bottle on the coffee table a second time and got up from the chair without meeting Serenity’s eyes. “I wanna go back,” he said. “Take me back!”

“No,” Serenity said. “No, don’t go yet! I mean, I’ll take you, if you absolutely want me to, but… Please, don’t go yet! We’ve hardly talked at all, and you haven’t even finished your soda. Come on! I’m gonna behave, I promise.”

Taven hesitated, and didn’t sit back down. 

“We don’t have to talk about you at all, if you don’t want to.” Serenity wasn’t giving up. “We don’t have to talk about me, either. Hey, what about… What about if we talked about your master instead? I know him well, you know. I could give you a few pointers.” Serenity winked at him. “Come on, what do you say?”

Taven finally sat down again. Serenity could tell him things about his master? Yes of course, already the first time at The Club, Taven had known there was something between his master and this slave. Taven picked up the soda bottle again with shaking hands. He was scared, but he still wanted to know. “How do you know him?” he asked, studying the label, picking at a loose corner. 

“We used to date,” Serenity simply informed him, not a trace of teasing or joking in his voice. 

Taven looked up in shock. There was absolutely no way he could process this utterly unexpected, not to say unreal, piece of information. He stared stupidly at Serenity for the longest time before he could get anything out at all. “That… Tha- that’s fucking bullshit,” he finally managed. “Free people don’t fucking _date_ slaves.”

He knew he was stupid but he wasn’t _that_ gullible. He’d suspected his master had fucked Serenity, and maybe the man hadn’t even liked it, in spite of the tall blond slave’s exceptional looks, judging from his owner’s scathing words, but that’s what free people did. They _fucked_ you, be it gently or harshly, they didn’t fucking _date_ you. 

Serenity shrugged his shoulders but his serious demeanor stayed. “No they don’t, do they?” he agreed. “But, Nickel did anyway. With me!”

“Why?” Taven asked. “What the hell for?” He just didn’t understand.

“Why?” Finally, Serenity’s stupid teasing grins and smiles returned. “You need to ask ‘why’? Just look at me!” Serenity leaned back in the chair and spread his arms wide as if he invited the whole world to gawk at his beauty. 

Taven demonstratively looked away. By now, he’d started to understand this was Serenity’s way of ‘joking’, but it didn’t mean he found it funny in the least. Besides, Serenity seemed to have a way of joking about stuff that was still true. Serenity must be the best-looking man he’d ever seen in his life, and definitely much better looking than he was, or could ever hope to be. 

Not that Taven cared what the hell Serenity looked like, or any other man for that matter, but _free people_ fucking cared, and they decided if you’d be discarded and thrown on the trash heap, or not. 

However, no matter how pretty a slave was, free people still wouldn’t date them, so what _was_ so damn special about Serenity? “I don’t fucking believe you,” he murmured. 

“Oh, all right,” Serenity admitted. “It wasn’t like he would have ever called it ‘dating’, but that’s still what it was, or damn close to it, anyway.”

“How…?” Taven said. He still didn’t get a fucking thing. “Your master allowed that?”

“Sure,” Serenity said. “Constantine isn’t exactly young, you know, and he’s the least healthy person I know, too. I don’t know who nags him the most to stop that damn smoking, and drinking, and stuffing himself with bad food, his doctor, Lady Portia, or me, but… Constantine is a Head Lord, and he doesn’t listen to anyone, God forbid.” Serenity rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Anyway, he doesn’t always have the strength to ‘have fun’ these days. You know, he has trouble getting it up.” Serenity laughed. “He says I’m gonna kill him one day, if I try too much. Well, I told you, he’s good to me. I’m young; he doesn’t want to condemn me to a life of celibacy at twenty-three. So, I can have sex at the side now and then, but of course, he keeps control over with whom.” Serenity winked at him.

Yeah, right, Taven didn’t believe for a second Serenity’s master knew all he was up to. “So, you kinda… You asked master to fuck you?” he said, looking down.

Serenity laughed. “No, goodness… Being crude doesn’t work with Nickel. Not that I hadn’t thought of it. I mean, just look at your master. He’s fucking hot! But, no, it’s not how it happened.” 

He leaned back in his chair again. “It was only his father forced him to go to these big clan events that happened to all take place within a few weeks, and demanded he made some kind of impression. It was a royal ball, and a clan wedding, and… Something else, I don’t remember, but, bigger stuff, you know. Nickel didn’t have an attendant of his own, so, he went to Constantine and asked to borrow the best one there is.” 

Taven rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment on Serenity’s annoying bragging. He wanted to hear this. 

“I got to spend some time with him in connection to those events, you know, we practiced, discussed what to wear, and all those things. It was the first time he’d ever really spoken to me, and we found out we got along fine.” 

“He fucked you then?” Taven asked grimly. He thought about how his master had gotten drunk at the first party and had wanted him to come to bed with him. 

Serenity chuckled. “I wished! Don’t you know him better by now? No, he didn’t, and it fucking nearly drove me mad.” Serenity shook his head. “Nickel always has to do everything the ‘right way’. He so could have fucked me any time he’d wished during those weeks. I mean, as if I would have said no. He must have known I would have been only too happy to, but… Nickel would never have gone behind Constantine’s back. Nothing happened, the events were all over, I was sent back, he hadn’t as much as given me a damn kiss, and I was, like, devastated.” Serenity laughed. 

“Then _what_?” Taven demanded, annoyed with Serenity’s slow storytelling. By now, he only wanted to hear it. 

“Easy, Taven, I’m getting there. There was nothing to it, really. Nickel turned up here a week or so later and spoke with Constantine. He simply asked to keep seeing me, and promised to be nice to me. Constantine allowed it, and _I_ said yes so fucking fast later I was scared Constantine would change his mind only because I’d been so damn eager.” He grinned. “And _then_ we fucked. Oh, did we ever…” Serenity seemed to look right through him with a dreaming expression. 

“And if fucking me was all, believe me I would have been satisfied, but, Nickel did so much more. He didn’t just fuck me, he made love to me, and he talked to me… No, he talked _with_ me, we talked, you know, and he took me out. He and his bodyguard – you know Mr. Roth, right – they took me to these small bars and restaurants down in the South End, and yeah, he didn’t let me drink, or anything, but we all sat at the same table, chatting. Down there, it was as if he let people think I wasn’t a slave. Can you believe it? He even let me order dinner for myself, like… Yeah, as if he was dating me.” 

Serenity sighed, a deep, sad and longing sigh. “It all started about one and a half year ago, and went on for a few months. It… It was the best damn time of my life.” 

Taven didn’t know what to say. He’d never been jealous of other slaves; he’d never felt anything about them, other than mistrust and suspicion. 

On a few occasions, people visiting Swift brought other boys, and sometimes it amused them to pit them against each other. One time they had forced Taven to fight another boy his own age. It had been a dirty fight. The other boy had beaten him as if he had wanted to take out years of abuse on him, and Taven hadn’t stood a chance. He’d tried to defend himself in any desperate measure possible, kicking, biting, and clawing at the other’s eyes, but to no avail. The other slave had been stronger and meaner, with nothing behind his eyes he could reach. The gathered men had roared with laughter and placed bets on them, before letting the winner fuck the loser. 

That slave had fucked him as hard as any free person ever had.

You didn’t get close to other slaves, because there was no help or sympathy to expect from them, each having their own survival to worry about; each having an owner at their back who directed their actions, and who you definitely couldn’t trust. They could all be a potential rival, too, for any advantages that might come your way, but a rival for affection…? No! There had never been any affection to fight for. 

Swift had given him a rare respite a few times, when his friends had wanted to torment some other boy. Taven had sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, chained to the pipes, and listened to that other poor creature crying out there. He’d heard his pathetic weeping and begging, as if he hoped it would help. Taven had known from the sounds when they’d beaten him, when they’d fucked him, and how his muffled cries meant they pushed their cocks down his throat. Yes, Taven had listened, and… he’d felt nothing. He had had no fucking strength to feel bad for the other boy, had simply only been so relieved they left him alone; he hadn’t been _able_ to feel anything else. 

Other slaves weren’t rivals for free peoples’ attention, at best; they were saviors from it. 

Yet, here Taven was, so fucking angry at Serenity’s story, so jealous, feeling so utterly and completely worthless, and he had no idea how to handle it. Right now, he couldn’t even look at Serenity. Seeing his perfect face, he just wanted to fucking bash it in. 

“Oh, yeah?” he sputtered bitterly. “It- it… It was so fucking special, why ain’t he still ‘dating’ you then?”

“Because I’m stupid, Taven, I’m so damn stupid.” 

It was such a small and sad voice that Taven looked up in sheer surprise. 

“Believe me,” Serenity continued. “You _are_ lucky, so have the decency to be grateful, and don’t do the same mistakes I did.”

Taven’s hate and jealousy somewhat simmered down, and he leaned over in the chair as if to not miss a word Serenity was saying. “What…? What kind of mistakes?”

Serenity smiled wryly, and leaned close, too. “Number one,” he said and raised a long and thin index finger before Taven’s nose. “Give him what he wants! _Always_ give him what he wants, Taven, because you’ll probably never again end up with a master who’ll demand less of you.”

Taven squirmed in the chair. He remembered Mr. Roth yelling at him in the car in the parking lot outside the mall, calling him disrespectful, obnoxious and ungrateful. He wanted to defend himself, explaining he _was_ trying to change, but how it wasn’t always that easy, but then it struck him his general behavior probably wasn’t what Serenity was talking about. 

“Yeah?” he said. “He doesn’t want that from me. He hasn’t, like… He’s not fucking touching me, ever.”

Serenity raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then burst out laughing. “Aw, isn’t he the sweetest? If he really hasn’t touched you yet, it’s only because he thinks it’s not the right time, or he wants to be careful with you, or some such shit, not because he doesn’t want _that_ from you. Believe me, I know him, remember? He buys someone with hair like yours, cute face like that, freckles and all… Oh, he wants to fuck you, all right.” Serenity kept chuckling and shaking his head at him, as if it was the silliest nonsense he’d ever heard. 

Almost frightfully sudden, he turned serious again. “Number two!” he said, putting two demanding fingers in his face this time. “Whenever he does think it’s the right time… Don’t go with someone else, before, or after. Get it? Don’t be a fucking slut, Taven. Don’t go with any of the slaves at the mansion, or anyone else. I don’t care what you like the best, don’t go with the boys, and don’t go with the girls. You think he won’t find out. He will. Eventually, he will, and then… You’re out!” 

Taven stared at Serenity with wide eyes. “That’s what happened?” he asked, breathless. 

Serenity closed his eyes, nodded silently and hung his head. “Yeah, I had sex with others… Others who weren’t Constantine, or Nickel, that is, and…” he sneered bitterly. “I didn’t even want to, and… Well, it doesn’t matter. I _did_ have sex with others, and I’m not sure how he found out, but he did, and… Well, that was that. He threw me out of his life.” 

Taven was quiet for a moment. “Were you punished?” he asked. 

The small laugh was as bitter as the earlier sneer. “No, you don’t understand. Nickel was angry, yeah, but, it wasn’t only anger, it was… He was _hurt_. He discarded me and ordered me to stay away, but he would never have demanded I was punished, or anything. He just didn’t want to see or talk to me anymore. The thing is; I know I’m lucky, and I shouldn’t complain. At least I already had a good master, and wasn’t just thrown out to face, whatever… It was back to business as usual for me, I guess.” 

He sighed. “Well, so, there you have it. Give him what he wants, and, whatever you do, don’t give it to someone else!”

Taven swallowed hard, an ice-cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. Serenity might already have had a nice master to go back to when he fucked up, but what did _he_ have waiting for him, if he made a similar mistake.

Nothing but complete despair, misery and death. 

“I… I wanna go back now,” Taven said.

Serenity nodded. He obviously wasn’t in the mood to chat anymore, either. “I’ll take you,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Taven stared at Serenity as he drove them back on the dusty dirt roads through the woods. The faster Serenity drove, the more his earlier depressive mood seemed to change. When he finally stopped the car outside the main entry of the Wren Mansion, he was all sunny smiles and cheeky grins again.

“So,” Serenity said when Taven unbuckled and reached for the door handle. “You want to come back another day, and talk some more? I’ll ask Nickel if…”

“Why the _fuck_ would you wanna see me again?” Taven interrupted. Still trapped in uneasy thoughts and dark feelings, Serenity’s apparent ability to change moods so quickly and effortlessly, completely unnerved him. “What do you _want_?” 

“What do you mean, ‘what do I want’?” Serenity retorted. “I don’t want anything. I just want us to be friends.”

“Slaves don’t have friends,” Taven yelled.

“Oh yeah? Why the hell not?” Serenity yelled back.

Taven had no answer; he reached for the handle again, prepared to storm out of the car, but Serenity stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“Hey, Taven,” he said. “Wait, before you go… Um… Don’t tell your master I told you all this, okay? He’ll be pissed if he knew we talked about him behind his back, know what I mean?” 

Taven tore his arm out of Serenity’s grip and got out, slamming the car door shut as hard as he could. He’d meant to head directly for the kitchen door, but for some reason he remained. Taking a few steps in different directions, kicking at gravel, he finally turned back to the car and leaned down to look through the rolled down window. “Like I would tell _him_ any of that,” he sneered. “Are you fucking crazy, and- and… I’m sorry I stepped on your fucking foot.” He turned and ran off, not wanting to give Serenity a chance to be smug about it.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Serenity shouted after him, laughing loudly.”You probably didn’t crack more than two or three bones, at the most, totally fine, already forgotten all about it. I’ll call your master, okay?”


	36. Not On the Same Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm posting a chapter which is quite a bit longer than normal, a long chapter with lots of awkwardness. Poor Taven.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> PaxterHobber keeps spoiling me with the cutest drawings! :-) This time, she sketched Taven together with his "idiot friend of a flagpole". :-D Go take a look [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/57496543)!
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Leaovo, too, made another piece of fanart that you simply have to go see. It illustrates the story Serenity told Taven in the previous chapter, in such a touching way. It's posted [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/57661201#workskin).
> 
> /Fran

They were watching TV again. 

Since a while back, his master had kept ordering Taven upstairs for an hour or two before bedtime. He’d been confused at first, since there seemed to be no reason, but his master had explained it was actually part of his work. Among other things, that’s what personal slaves did, keeping their owners company if they so wished. 

Well, it wasn’t as if Taven would complain then. It was hard to picture an easier kind of job than simply being there. As long as all they did was watching TV, it remained true; it really was the easiest and least demanding work imaginable, although it was fucking boring. He didn’t get another say in what was on, his master only wanted to watch stuff that went right over his head – like the news, or political debates, or documentaries about space – and he was to remain silent until the show was over. 

It still beat reading stupid books in his room. 

However, after the show ended his master was sometimes in a chatty mood, and that was considerably more challenging. The other night for example, the man had wanted to know what Serenity and he had been talking about during his visit a few days earlier. 

Taven had squirmed on his end of the couch at the demand. A part of him had wanted to repeat everything Serenity had said, and ask if it was true. However, somehow he knew Serenity hadn’t been lying, and he simply didn’t want to hear it all again, not out of his master’s mouth, too. He didn’t want the man to confirm just how inferior he was and how, if Serenity hadn’t made a mistake, his owner would never have made his ill-considered impulse buy. Besides, Taven had promised Serenity not to tell, and considering how angry his master had looked about them talking behind his back at the party… 

In the end, Taven had told his master all Serenity had done was talking about himself, which wasn’t really a lie. The man had laughed, and said he knew exactly what he meant. 

He’d gotten away easy that time, but he still preferred the evenings where his master looked tired, wanted to go to bed early, and sent him back to his room as soon as the TV was switched off. 

Well, that’s what he _used_ to prefer.

At first, Taven had only wanted to forget all about Serenity’s advice and warnings, but ever since his master had brought up the visit to the Engel Mansion, he’d started to obsess about them instead. As soon as he’d settled into the comfortable couch, he’d tuned out the talking heads on the screen and went over Serenity’s words in his head, over and over again. Taven wasn’t going to make the same mistakes, he told himself, but to not make those mistakes, he needed an actual chance to give his master ‘what he wanted’ in the first place. Right? Preferably, before his owner tired of him.

“Taven!”

He blinked at the voice.

“Taven,” his master repeated. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been staring at me all through the news.”

He looked down. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring, and he hadn’t noticed his master had switched off the TV. 

His master only shrugged his shoulders and grinned at him. “Well,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. “I suppose it’s time to…”

“Master, can I speak freely?” Taven hurriedly interrupted, not giving himself a chance to chicken out. 

His master frowned, but the expression softened. “Well, all right, if it doesn’t take too long. What’s on your mind, boy?” 

Taven gathered himself and let Serenity’s words guide him. Serenity had sounded so sure when he’d claimed the man did want to fuck him. “Master,” he started, heart thumping in his chest. “Can’t you fuck me tonight?”

The expression on his master’s face would have been almost comical if he wasn’t so nervous. 

“Uh…” his master said. “I’ve told you, it’s too soon.”

Too soon for what? Taven didn’t fucking get it. “I can be fucked now,” he murmured. “Those pills and creams helped. I’m fixed up.”

“That’s not…” His master looked consternated. “It’s not about physical matters, as much as… Look, Taven, I’m not at all rejecting you, but the way you’re speaking of this shows me we’re not quite on the same page.” He reached out a hand and rubbed his arm with a consoling expression. “We need to talk about this, I can tell, but not tonight. I have a meeting with our accountant early tomorrow morning and I need my sleep. We will talk about it, but not tonight.” 

Taven hung his head. The man kept saying he wasn’t rejecting him, but it sure as hell fucking felt like it. 

His master must have noticed his disappointment. “I tell you what,” he said, his hand still on his arm. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight, you can always sleep in my bed, like the last time, remember? I suppose it’s a good idea in any case, if you did sleep with me more often. We’d get more comfortable with each other. Yes, you come with me to bed, but… Only to sleep, for now, you understand?” 

Taven nodded, he supposed it was better than nothing. 

The man patted his shoulder. “Good! Why don’t you go down and change into your pajamas. I’ll be taking a shower, so don’t knock, just go inside and wait for me.

“Yes, Master,” Taven murmured.

\-----o0o-----

Taven sneaked inside his master’s bedroom a short while later, dressed in his pajamas. It was only his second time in this room but he’d had no trouble finding it. Since the TV nights, he’d eventually learned the somewhat complicated route of backstairs from the slaves’ quarters to the upstairs in the west wing, and the man’s private bedroom was only a few doors down from the room with the TV and the comfortable couch.

His master must still be in the shower, the bedroom was empty and he could hear water running. He strolled about the room on bare feet, looking at stuff. The last time in here, he hadn’t had a chance to check things out, but it was much like the other rooms. Packed full of old stuff. However, since someone actually lived in here there was modern stuff, as well.

Taven took some time checking out the bed. He was pretty sure most people didn’t sleep in monster beds like this. His master’s bed was big enough for at least three, maybe four, people, sleeping shoulder to shoulder, he thought, and the bedposts almost touched the ceiling. The ‘fabric roof’ on top was a ‘canopy’, the man had explained, pointing out similar beds in other parts of the house. It sure was a weird piece of furniture to gawk at, or maybe he was only staring because it was important what would happen in it. 

He forced his eyes away from the bed and they were drawn to a funny-looking chest of drawers standing along the wall instead. Taven marveled at the strange shape. It was kind of bulging in places. He ran his hands over it, trying to figure out how the hell you could make wood go in and out in soft curves like this. Soon getting bored with ‘the wooden wonder’, though, his attention turned to a row of framed photographs placed on the chest of drawers’ stone top. It was old photos in black and white, and all of them showed stern-faced, straight-backed, people who were dressed in weird clothes. They were old time lords and ladies, Taven thought, his master’s ancestors. None of them looked like people he’d want to be near, all of them staring strictly at the camera, no smiles. 

A single photo stood out from the others, being the only one in color, and Taven picked up the frame to look closer. It was a portrait of a boy, maybe six or seven years old. He had a blue shirt on and was light-skinned with dark brown hair and eyes. Like the others, he looked straight at the camera, but in contrast to the dire gallery surrounding him, there was a big smile on his face. One of his front teeth were missing 

The bathroom door opened behind him, and a startled Taven hurried to put the photo back. 

His master walked up to him, wearing loose-fitting gray pajama pants only, dabbing at his damp hair with a towel. The man had obviously spotted him holding the frame, but he didn’t seem annoyed with his curiosity. “It’s a nice photo, isn’t it?” he said, smiling as he reached around him to touch at the frame.

“That’s you, Master,” Taven said. 

Of course, he thought he recognized the dark hair and eyes now, but the man shook his head. 

“No, it’s Taven, before he became ill.”

Oh, this was the dead brother. The boy whose name he was borrowing. Things turned somewhat awkward, and it felt as if he should say something, but Taven had no idea what. “Uh, what happened to his tooth?” he finally asked, more proper words escaping him.

His master gave him a look somewhere between surprise and amusement. “Well, he lost his milk teeth. Don’t you remember losing your first teeth?” 

Taven shrugged his shoulders. “…don’t think much about when I was a kid, and all that,” he murmured.

Again, his master looked weirdly consternated, but he didn’t say anything. He reached around Taven once more and pulled out the top drawer, picking up another identical photo frame. The photo had been placed in the drawer face down, but the man turned it around now to show him. “_This_ is me, I’m afraid,” he said. 

Taven took the photo and looked. At first, it seemed similar to the other. This boy had the same dark hair and eyes and the same blue shirt, but looked a year or two older. It was obvious he was the first boy’s brother, as they were so alike, but… Taven’s eyes widened. “What…? What was wrong with your ears, Master?” he blurted out, unable to stop himself. It was just the weirdest shit; the kid version of his master had large protruding ears sticking straight out to the sides through his hair.

His master laughed and snapped the frame out of his hands to put it face down in the drawer again. “Well, why do you think I don’t keep that up?”

Taven stared at his master. “But… You ain’t got…?”

“I don’t still have wing nut ears, no. Thank God! Not long after that photo was taken, I had ear reshaping surgery.”

There was no way Taven could refrain from imagining his master still having ears like that, nor could he help how laughter bubbled up inside of him at this inner vision. He slapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, trying to repress the urge, but it still came out in a half-choked snort. 

“Yes, just laugh at me, why don’t you?” his master said, his voice laced with amusement. “We weren’t all born good-looking, like you, you know, some of us needed later corrections.”

Taven’s laughter died out. “I ain’t good-looking,” he said. “I look like shit all over.”

His master said nothing, but he walked around him to stand next to the chest of drawers, demanding his attention by rapping his knuckles against the stone top. “Do you know what this piece of furniture is?” he said.

Taven shook his head, confused at the sudden change of topic. 

“No, of course you don’t, how could you? Well, it’s a genuine Rhen. It was handmade by a skilled master cabinet maker called Benedict Rhen, over two hundred and fifty years ago.”

Taven repressed a sigh; he hadn’t expected another lecture about antiques.

His master didn’t let his attention drift. “Look here, Taven,” he demanded. “Can you see how there’s a big crack in the marble? Do you see how many pieces are missing in the inlays, and how scruffy this leg is?”

Yeah, Taven saw. So? The chest of drawers had a lot of imperfections, what of it? 

“Well,” his master went on. “What do you think such a flawed piece might be worth?”

Taven shrugged his shoulders. He had no fucking idea.

“No? It’s worth more than one and a half million Taler.”

Taven stared, jaw dropping. “Uh… No way!” he said. “That much money… For some broken old furniture?”

His master nodded. “Last year I invited an expert from an auction house here, to value things for insurance reasons, and he confirmed it’s not only genuine, but indeed worth this much money, if not more.”

Taven didn’t get it. “Why? What’s special about it?”

“Well, Rhen was an exceptional craftsman, and he was a purveyor to the court. All his work is highly sought after today, but he only made a few chests of drawers and even fewer remains. It’s simply a rare piece. So rare, that, even with defects, it’s still precious and valuable to people who can appreciate the underlying quality.” 

His master kept staring expectantly, but Taven still didn’t get what the man wanted from him. 

“There _are_ still three chests of drawers made by Rhen left in the world,” his master said, but… Taven, there’s only _one_ of you.”

Taven finally got the analogy, and it made him immensely awkward. “Eh… What the fuck, Master,” he murmured, staring at his feet, squirming. “I ain’t worth no one and a half million, not even close.”

His master reached a hand out and pushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face. “Well, no, you’re correct, of course. The market value for a well-trained exotic your age is around eighty thousand, I should think, but the thing is… To me, your worth isn’t measured in money anymore, and physical defects don’t matter.”

Taven looked away; he never knew what to say when his master said weird shit like that.

The man smiled. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Taven glanced at the green digital numbers, glowing in the dark from over at the nightstand on his master’s side of the bed. The man had been sleeping soundly for almost an hour, but he didn’t intend to fall asleep. The last time in his master’s bed, he hadn’t been able to stay awake, but this time he was determined to.

He was too fucking disappointed to sleep anyway. Taven had thought, once they slipped under the covers, his master would fuck him, after all, no matter what he’d said earlier in the TV room, but the man had only turned away and fallen asleep.

What was he doing wrong? 

It couldn’t be about health issues. It had been a good excuse before, but not any longer. They’d been back to the old doctor several times, who had tested him in all sorts of ways. His master had been there when the doctor had told them Taven was mostly well. The man knew he could fuck him now. He even had a nice mouth these days, new teeth and all. 

Apparently, the problem wasn’t his looks, either. Serenity had said his master would like his face and freckles, and it must mean something coming from him. Right? Of course, Serenity didn’t know what he looked like in the nude, but his master had claimed several times his scars didn’t matter. Hell, he’d said so just now, before they’d gone to bed. It was still hard for Taven to wrap his mind around, but the man was obviously really hot for his hair – what master would ever fucking brush his slave’s hair – so maybe it was true it was compensation enough. 

There were his manners of course. He simply wasn’t well behaved and submissive enough, and as patient as the man was outside of bed, he probably didn’t want to deal with shit like that _in_ bed, too. Taven squirmed. He so easily got angry and mouthed off, being an obnoxious little shit and a fucking ass, but he was trying to change, and in bed… Well, it was different in bed. 

His master wasn’t a brutal guy, or the man would have already beaten him half to death a hundred times over. It was likely he wouldn’t be harsh in bed either. Taven would have no reason to fight it. 

Maybe his master simply thought he wouldn’t be good at it. Taven blushed in shame when this occurred to him. He hadn’t made much of an impression on his master when it came to any kind of skills, had he? His master had admitted he was a slow learner, and he was stupid and clumsy in everything the man was trying to teach him. Of course, the man would think he was completely shitty in bed, too. Taven couldn’t overcome the feeling of shame. It had to be the real reason his master kept rejecting him. What else could it be? 

It wasn’t true, Taven thought with indignation. He hadn’t been used for so long without picking up a thing, or two, and he was especially good with his mouth. 

When he was younger, Taven had thought sucking cock was the most horrible thing ever. He’d hated how they forced their smelly cocks into his mouth, and he’d panicked when they’d pushed them down his throat and cut off his breath. Eventually though, he’d discovered if he offered it voluntarily and made it good for them, they’d get off quicker and might leave him alone sooner. Sometimes he’d managed to get his sore asshole a much needed rest that way, getting some horny old bastard to come before he had a chance to move on to fucking him. It didn’t always work. Some had understood what he was up to, and then things had turned bad, but sometimes, it had been worth the risk. 

Yeah, he’d become good at it, going to his knees, looking up at them with begging eyes, pretending he couldn’t wait to suck their disgusting dicks, and then get them off as quickly as he could, using any and all tricks he’d picked up from a hundred men before them.

He _was_ good at blowjobs, damn it, but his master must believe he couldn’t do shit. If he could only show the man how skilled he was, Taven was sure that…

Now, wait a minute, Taven thought, cutting his musings short. He _could_ show the man, he could show him right now. Taven only needed _one_ chance, and he was positive his master was going to like it.

Excited, Taven sat up in bed and freed himself from the covers. He took his pajama shirt off and carefully groped around in the dark until he felt the table lamp he knew was on the nightstand. Taven draped the shirt over the lampshade and switched it on, holding his breath. 

His master didn’t move and Taven exhaled. The extra shading gave him enough light to see what he was doing, but it wasn’t bright enough to wake the man. 

Taven turned around fully and sat cross-legged on the bed, looking over the sleeping man. He knew exactly what he should do, but it would be a lie to say he wasn’t both nervous and scared right now. Who knew what would happen if he fucked this up? He hesitated, watching the man, stalling... 

His master was still wearing pajama pants only, and in the heat of the room had pushed the covers down to his hips. He was sleeping on his back, with his head turned to the side, and his lips slightly parted. His right hand was resting on his bare and peacefully rising and falling chest.

The man looked different asleep, younger somehow, and less strict. Not that he was usually especially scary even awake, but still. Right now, it was easy to see Nickel for the nice and mild-mannered man he often was, and… Taven startled, surprising himself with calling the man by name in his thoughts. He tried it a few more times: ‘Nickel, Nickel, Nickel…’ It felt strange. Why hadn’t he ever done that before? Inside your head was the only place where it was safe to vent and be defiant, after all. At least if he could keep it there, and not blurt shit out, like the idiot he was. 

Yeah, why had he never even tried thinking of his master as ‘Nickel’ – he _had_ called the man worse things aloud, after all – and how come he’d been so angry with Serenity for using the man’s name? 

It struck him out of nowhere. He did know why. Serenity had called his own master by name when no one could hear them to vent his discontents with the old man and show his rebellious nature, but he’d called _Nickel_ by name in remembrance of a closeness they’d once shared. 

Jealousy and anger came over him again. Serenity could go fuck himself, and from now on, he would fucking call his master by name as much as he damn well wanted to. 

Well, inside his head only, of course. 

Taven sighed. Hating on Serenity didn’t help. There was a lot at stake here, and he hesitated still. He told himself, it was fucking stupid. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this before, after all, and worse. Taven couldn’t imagine he would have an especially bad time sucking off this particular free man. Serenity had sure been eager enough. He’d been going on as if he’d wanted nothing else in his life than this man fucking him. ‘_Just look at your master_’, Serenity had said. ‘_He’s fucking hot_!’ 

That was true, Taven supposed, staring at his master’s lean-muscled, smooth-skinned torso, his soft lips, well-shaped nose, and tousled dark brown hair. Okay, he saw it, the man looked nice; Taven wasn’t blind. His master _was_ handsome. 

It was only… It didn’t help, either. It had never fucking helped him with anything. 

No matter what his owner looked like things would have been the same and the man would have still bought himself a slave boy. The good his owner had done wouldn’t have been less good if he’d been ugly as fuck, the bad things wouldn't become better, only because he wasn’t. Taven couldn’t think of a single thing since he’d been brought here that would have been different if his owner had _looked_ different. Only _his_ appearance mattered, anyway. The slave was supposed to please the master, not the other way around. 

Yes, right. Reminding himself of this Taven stopped procrastinating. He knew what to do, and when his master woke up – hopefully at just the right moment – he should be greeted with a pleasing sight. Taven reached for the end of his braid, removed the hair tie and unbraided his hair, shaking it out over his shoulders. 

Time to get a fucking grip of himself. 

He got up on his knees, careful not to shift the mattress so much the man would wake, and leaned over his master’s legs. Gingerly he pulled the covers down and fiddled with the knot of the drawstring pants. His heart beat hard in his chest. Could he really pull down his master’s pants without waking the man? 

Turned out he could.

It took some slow and careful wiggling, but finally cock was laid bare, and the man hadn’t moved as much as a finger. Taven studied it curiously and couldn’t help how the corners of his mouth twitched in forbidden amusement. There wasn’t much life between his master’s legs at the moment, was there? The soft cock, resting on a thick thatch of crisp dark curls, sure didn’t look very threatening. It wasn’t that the man was freakishly small, or anything, but it was far from the biggest cock he’d seen in his life. 

Well, Taven would make it bigger. 

However, just as he was about to lean over to take Nickel’s cock in his mouth he remembered the old doctor’s warnings and instructions. The herpes infection down his throat couldn’t be cured, but the doctor had explained how the virus was forced to ‘lie dormant’ because of the pills he was taking. He had no more sore throat, and kissing him was considered reasonably risk-free, but the treatment wasn’t a foolproof thing. To be on the safe side having oral sex, they would always have to use a condom. 

Taven sat back on his heels, disappointment washing over him as he saw his only chance to prove himself slip away. He couldn’t risk giving his master herpes. Taven was sure it was a ‘gift’ the man wouldn’t appreciate. He swore silently to himself, but hope returned only a second later. His master was a good-looking, young, rich guy; of course he would keep condoms around. 

He carefully got out of the bed and rounded it to pull out the drawer in the nightstand on his master’s side, and… Taven grinned; a pack of condoms was the first thing he saw. He brought it back to the bed.

Taven fumbled nervously with the box. Condoms weren’t something he was familiar with. Either people hadn’t used them at all, or they hadn’t let _him_ put them on. His hands were shaking by the time he finally managed to get one out without ripping it. Putting a floppy condom onto a sleeping man’s limp cock was no easy feat, either. Nickel shifted when Taven touched him, his hand slipping down from his chest. Taven froze and held his breath, but when his master didn’t wake, he resumed his careful ministrations. Finally, the damn condom was where it should be.

He wasted no more time. He leaned over and took his master’s cock in his mouth, hoping he hadn’t forgotten how to do this. It had been a while, after all. He needn’t worry; it soon enough came back to him. It wasn’t that bad, either. His master was clean and smelled nice, for one thing, and Taven had the unusual luxury of being able to do things at his own pace. The condom felt like a weird barrier, but he did his best and was rewarded with the man’s cock growing in his mouth. 

Yes, he was doing it right. Even asleep, his master liked it, and when he woke up, he was going to like it even more. Taven was elated. He was giving his master what he wanted, and, for once, the man would be pleased with him, pleased for real. 

The man’s hips shifted as Taven worked and a startled gasp above him was soon followed by a moan. Taven could hardly retain his excitement. His master was finally waking up to see how good he was, and he put everything he had in it, sucking and licking to the best of his abilities. 

“What…? Taven? Wha- what are you doing?” 

His master was surprised, naturally, but he didn’t pull away, so he must be pleased, as well. Taven renewed his efforts, and the man pushed his hips against him, clearly wanting more. 

“Oh, my God…” he moaned

Taven rejoiced. Finally, he was being of real use, _finally_, he was… It didn’t last.

“No! No, stop it… _Stop it_!” the man ordered, pulling away from him. His master sat up at the bedside staring at him in confusion, hair on end. His mouth opened several times, but no words came out. He was still hard, which a second later he also seemed to realize since he speedily pulled the covers over his groin. “For _goodness sake_, boy,” he said. “What on earth is the matter with you? _Jesus_!” 

Taven stared back in ever as much confusion, his heart sinking into his stomach. Something was wrong. His master wasn’t happy at all and even seemed angry. _What was he doing wrong_? “But- but you liked it, Master,” he tried.

“Liked it? Well, yes, but… Taven, that’s… Whether I liked it or not has absolutely nothing to do with it, boy. You just don’t… You do _not_ do such a thing! Understand?”

Taven couldn’t have been more bewildered. The man liked the blowjob, but still forbade him doing it? It didn’t make sense. There was no mistaking it, though, he’d done _something_ bad, and his master was displeased. Very displeased.

He felt sick. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. Sexual service was an area in which he could _not_ fuck up, Serenity had been clear on that point, but how could he try to salvage this, if he didn’t even understand where he’d gone wrong. 

Taven’s mind was spinning, he was close to panicking and he was desperate to save himself. He’d done what Serenity told him, so, what had he missed? Had Serenity lied to him? The fucking bastard, the _fucking shithe_… No, Serenity hadn’t lied; Taven just hadn’t paid attention to the important parts. Serenity had said he hadn’t asked Nickel to fuck him, because that was _crude_, and Nickel didn’t like it when slaves were crude. 

Of course. Taven could have smacked himself. He was so fucking stupid. It wasn’t that the man didn’t want blowjobs, Taven just shouldn’t ‘be crude’ about it. Well, he had no other choice than to try again, or the man would kick him out of the room in the next second, he was sure. He would maybe never have another chance. 

He scooted closer and tilted his head sweetly to the side, looking at the man with begging eyes. He must try to be really, really nice this time, the way his owner liked it. “Master, I’m sorry,” he tried. “Please don’t be angry. I- I just wanted…” He desperately searched for the right words. What had his master once said? He didn’t ’fuck’, he ’made love’. Yes. Serenity had said the same thing. Nickel hadn’t ‘just fucked him’; he’d ‘made love to him’. “Please, Master,” Taven continued, nervously twirling his hands in his hair, where it trailed over his bare chest. “Please, make love to me?”

The words had the strangest effect on his master; the man swallowed hard, his expression softening and his dark eyes turning moist. He smiled tenderly and nodded. “If… If you really want me to…” he started; his voice choked. “Of course I will.” Nickel put a gentle hand at his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Much as the last time, the kiss was soft and gentle. His master slowly laid him down on his back and leaned over him, propped up on his elbows, trying not to put too much weight on him. 

Taven reached for the man’s cock. 

“No,” his master said, stopping his hand. “Let’s make it nice for _you_!” he whispered in his ear.

What? Taven had no idea what that meant. The man wanted him to stay passive so he could do stuff to him? All right! He’d started this, so he had better not chicken out now, or complain. Taven would lie back and be a good boy, no matter how hard his heart pounded in his chest. Nickel was nice, he reminded himself, using the man’s name as if he wanted to pretend it wasn’t a master who was just about to use him. Nickel was kind and nice. The man wouldn’t cut him; he wouldn’t burn him, or choke him. He wouldn’t. 

Right? 

Taven reminded himself to stay calm. If he only got through this without freaking out, it would pay off later. 

Nickel sat up beside him and reached for his loose hair. Slowly and meticulously, he spread it out on the white sheets, arranging it around Taven’s body, carefully combing the tresses with his fingers. The gentle pulls made the back of Taven’s neck prickle. 

“God,” his master said. “This is so amazing…”

Taven stared up into the canopy. This was what the man wanted to do? Men had got off on his hair before, wanting to pull hard at his braid, or come in it, stuff like that, but his master really was extra weird about this. Well, at least it didn’t hurt.

It seemed an eternity before the man finally stopped fiddling with his hair and plopped down at his side again, but only to touch at his chest instead. Taven was both awkward and confused. What was his master doing? Why didn’t he fuck him already? He could see how the man hesitated touching his scars, and no fucking wonder. Nickel must think this was disgusting. Taven thought of how his master once must have touched Serenity like this, too, and he felt sick. Serenity wouldn’t have a chest like his.

Taven fought to stay still. However, when Nickel touched the large scar that replaced his nipple, he couldn’t take it anymore. It was a disgusting part of his body, disgusting, hideous and repulsive. He slapped his master’s hand away more or less on pure reflex, shuddering all over. 

The man held up his slapped hand in surprise.

Taven flinched, expecting a considerably harder slap in return, but his master only let his hand sink, resting it on his hip.

I- I’m sorry, Master,” he tried. “I ain’t gonna do that again, I swear.”

“It’s all right, Taven,” Nickel assured him. “Are they sensitive? I mean your scars… Dr. Cordeaux said they might be sensitive.”

Taven shook his head. Some of them were, but that wasn’t the problem. 

His master looked concerned. “You don’t like it when I touch you?” he asked. 

Like it? Taven really didn’t understand this. No, he didn’t like it, because it was weird, and his scars were fucking disgusting, and it didn’t matter anyway, because _he_ was suppose to serve his master and make it nice for _him_. “Ain’t no use in it,” he said. “I can suck you, Master, real good, and then you can fuck me, and…”

Nickel interrupted him with a small laugh. “Goodness, why are you in such a hurry, boy? What’s wrong with a little bit of foreplay?”

These words sure didn’t make him feel better, but whatever the man wanted… “You wanna play with me, Master, I ain’t gonna whine,” he said, trying to put on a brave face, steeling himself. 

The man’s smile died out in an instant. “It’s… That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Don’t you know what foreplay means?” His master looked more consternated than ever. “I was only trying to relax you.”

Oh, Taven thought, Nickel _was_ a nice master. “I ain’t getting more relaxed,” he said. “I ain’t scared, or anything. You can fuck me now. I wanna please you, and…”

His assurances did nothing to change the distressed look on his master’s face. “Goodness gracious, boy… You _are_ pleasing me. Just look at how beautiful you are, and the way you’re letting me close, it’s… Don’t think you aren’t pleasing me.”

He was? Taven had never been more confused in his life. How could he be pleasing? Nickel had said he would fuck him, but, so far, he sure as hell wasn’t. How could he be of any use like this? Touching his hair, and fingering his scars, wasn’t using him, was it? The man was still hard; didn’t he want it taken care of?

Well, begging and nice words had worked earlier, so… Taven reached down for the man’s cock again, resolutely closing his fingers around it, moving his hand slowly up and down. “Please, Master,” he tried, as sweetly as he could. “Please put it in me,” he begged, pulling desperately at the drawstrings of his own pajama pants with his free hand, trying to wiggle out of them. 

“I’m not sure if…”

Taven interrupted him by nuzzling at his master’s neck with his mouth, trying to get the man to kiss him again. “Please, Master…” he went on. “Please, I’ll be good…”

Asking nicely and using pleasant words had, again, the desired effect. Nickel got up on his knees to pull Taven’s pajama pants off in a hurry before lying down on top of him, grinding their crotches together. The man kissed him again, and it really wasn’t so bad, Taven started to enjoy the kissing part. 

It was obvious his master was horny by now, breathing hotly into his mouth, but he was still taking it easy, and wasn’t being forceful. In situations like this, Taven was never aroused himself, but being able to keep his fears under control only, even trapped under his master’s lean body, made this better than most times serving in bed. 

He wouldn’t complain. 

Nickel ended the kiss too soon, rising up on his arms, looking like he only very reluctantly broke the physical contact between them. “Just a second,” he said. “I’m only going to…” He turned and reached for the drawer in his nightstand, hurriedly fumbling through it. 

Was he looking for the condoms? He was already wearing one. Taven was just about to helpfully point this out, when Nickel seemed to find what he was looking for. He crawled back to him with a smile, holding up a plastic bottle.

Lube? Oh. 

Taven closed his eyes. He was going to get fucked now, no doubt about it, and as much as he wanted this – it was good for his future, he knew it was – he was still scared. Taven had no idea what it was going to be like. The man would use lube, which was good, and might be yet another sign of his master’s gentleness, but he couldn’t be sure. The lube might only be for the man’s own comfort. 

His master turned him on the side and spooned him, letting Taven’s head rest on his arm. Nickel caressed him over the hair and whispered in his ear. “I’ll be very, very careful,” he promised. “If you feel the least bit discomfort, you let me know, and I’ll stop, you hear?”

Yeah, right. Taven had never met a man who’d stopped fucking him only because he’d begged them to. He believed Nickel would be careful, he really did, but _that_ was just bullshit. Taven nodded all the same.

His master reached a hand down and caressed the back of his thigh, eventually pushing his knee up to his chest. He soon felt the man’s fingers circling his hole, something cold and sticky against his skin. Taven tried to keep still as his master slowly and gently pushed a finger inside him, soon followed by a second. Nickel turned Taven’s head with his free hand, and kissed him. The kissing did somewhat relax him, the fingers up his ass didn’t hurt and the lube had warmed up. After a while, his master pulled out his fingers and tried to replace them with something bigger. 

It really shouldn’t have made him react like he did, but when he felt the tip of his master’s cock starting to breach his hole it was as if he couldn’t breathe anymore. He tensed up, and there was a sudden and sharp stab of pain, shooting up his spine. Taven yelped. 

His master pulled away in an instant.

Fuck, Taven cursed inside his head. Fuck, _fuck_.

Nickel turned him back and put his arms around him. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No!” Taven protested. “It didn’t hurt, I swear.” 

“It didn’t hurt?” Nickel was clearly not buying it.”Taven, you cried out.”

“No I didn’t!” Taven desperately denied the undeniable. “You can go on, Master. You can fuck me.”

Nickel shook his head, looking worried. “I’m not going to do this if it hurts you.”

Taven wanted to kick himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? The man had been more careful and gentle than pretty much anyone who’d ever touched him. He’d used lube, prepared him, taking it slow. He hadn’t pushed, but had tried to ease his way in. Hell, the man hadn’t even started to fuck him. Taven had been more relaxed, and less scared, than he could remember ever having been in the hands of a free man. He’d _liked_ the kissing, and still… He had no idea where the stabbing pain had come from, but it had fucking ruined everything, and now his master didn’t want to go on.

“I can take it, Master,” Taven tried. “It wasn’t that bad, really, I swear. I’ve had much worse. I can take it. You go on, I’ll shut up, I promise. I won’t interrupt again.”

His master’s frown deepened, and he pulled away from him, sitting up at the bedside. “This was clearly a mistake,” he said. 

Taven turned ice cold. 

Nickel leaned over him, and caressed his cheek, looking sad. “You’re obviously not ready for this. I shouldn’t have… I don’t want to hurt you.”

He couldn’t look his master in the eyes. The man was disappointed in him… again. “I’m fucking worthless,” he said, fighting his tears.

“No,” Nickel said. “You’re not at all worthless. Why would you think that? This isn’t your fault. It’s my fault. I told you; we shouldn’t rush things. You’re not comfortable with this yet, with me, and…Well, I should have known you weren’t ready. We won’t try this again, not for a while.”

Taven wanted to protest further, but what would be the point. He hated himself. In all his life, he’d only been good for one thing, _one_ thing, and he’d fucked it up. He _was_ worthless, and no bullshit lies from his master could sway him from this conviction. 

“Can I go to my room, Master?” he asked, avoiding the man’s eyes. Nickel was still trying to comfort him, but right now, he couldn’t stand his master’s gentle touches. 

“You don’t have to leave,” his master said. “I’m not displeased with you, not at all. It’s not what this is about.” 

“Please, Master,” Taven tried again, desperately searching for the correct words. “May I please go to my room, Master? Please?”

The man frowned deeply again, but he backed off. 

“If you really… All right, you may go.” 

Taven tried to be polite, as he’d been taught, and murmured his thanks while he slipped off the bed and grabbed his pajama pants on the go, but he fled the room without looking back, leaving his shirt still draped over the lamp. 

He managed not to start to cry until he curled up under the covers of his own bed, and had switched off the lights.


	37. Loosening It, and Losing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter time...
> 
> /Fran

Nickel was casually dressed up for a night on the town, waiting down by the main gate for his taxi. 

Going out had been Roth’s idea. His friend had told him he’d looked much too glum lately. He needed cheering up, Roth had said, and reminded him what a good time they used to have in the bars and restaurants down at the South End. 

It was true, they’d had a lot of fun down there - Nickel grinned at the memories - and it really had been ages since they last had had a night out. 

Before Roth came into his life, he would have never even considered setting foot anywhere near the South End. Nickel had imagined it a miserably dilapidated area full of drugs, solely inhabited by criminal gangs, whose vicious members couldn’t wait to rob and murder an unsuspecting lord, stupid enough to stumble into their midst. Roth had laughed at his prejudices even while admitting, for some parts; it wasn’t far from the truth. 

However, the South End district was big and other parts weren’t so bad. Granted, these friendlier streets were as run down, and the inhabitants there struggled with many kinds of social problems, but most of them were decent people, only trying to find honest work, and raise their kids to a better life. These people hated the thugs and the gangs as much as anyone did. Roth would know; his parents had been among them. 

The first time Roth had taken him to his ‘home turf’, he’d still been nervous, and maybe a bit scared, but he’d had a great night out. Nickel had appreciated the free-spirited ambience down there, which was so unlike the clans’ obsession with proprieties, hierarchy and appearance. 

Nickel wasn’t so naïve as to think he wouldn’t come across as a terribly clueless upper class twit, proclaiming poor peoples’ lives awfully quaint and picturesque, so simple and unpretentious, while complaining about the heavy burden of his riches and privileges. However, it _was_ still nice to occasionally get away from everything and pretend he was just a regular guy, if only for a night. 

Only, tonight wasn’t really one of those nights. Nickel admitted, he’d only agreed to make his friend happy. 

Roth had obviously noticed there were things bothering him lately, even if he hadn’t told his bodyguard about it. He still hadn’t mentioned fitting Taven with the bit, for example, neither had he spoken a word of the recent disastrous night in his bed. Roth hadn’t asked him what was wrong, bless him, but he was nothing if not perceptive and had maybe hoped ‘a night out with the guys’ would fix things. 

Nickel sighed, he appreciated the gesture, but a night out wouldn’t ‘fix’ anything, would it? Roth wasn’t the only one he hadn’t talked to lately, and it was just terribly immature to avoid bringing up with Taven what had happened between them. Nickel had even been relieved when Serenity had called, the day before yesterday, wanting to see Taven. He’d gladly let the boy visit at the Engel Mansion for a few hours, giving him a reason not to bring it up that night either. Going out with Roth was only postponing the whole thing yet again. 

He was a grown man; he shouldn’t be such a coward. Besides, it wasn’t fair to poor Taven, who was obviously depressed about their pathetic attempt at lovemaking, as well. 

With warmth, Nickel remembered how Taven had reacted when he had seen the unfortunate ears he’d been born with. It had been worth revealing the embarrassing photo, only to see how laughter had bubbled up within the boy, and how he’d failed to repress it. These last few days, Taven had been further from laughter than ever. 

Oh, he was being a fool. How could he even think about going out, leaving Taven alone, instead of talking to him?

Nickel fished up his phone from an inner pocket, he would cancel the taxi, and then he’d call Roth.

\-----o0o-----

Cancelling the night out hadn’t been a problem. Roth had, bless him again, been understanding. Without going into too much detail, Nickel had explained what had happened in his bedroom, and Roth had agreed; he _should_ talk to Taven. ‘_We can go out any time_’, he’d said. ‘_Now, go talk to the kid, before he does something stupid_’.

Nickel had changed out of his clothes and was hurrying down the backstairs to the slaves’ quarters. He felt better already, only at coming to this decision. 

Reaching Taven’s door, he gave it a short rap before opening it a crack, only to get a swift glimpse of what looked like Taven practically throwing himself across the room and scrambling under the covers of his bed. Nickel stopped dead in his tracks, door handle still in hand. Had the boy been _naked_? 

He flung the door wide open and stepped inside. Taven was sitting on the bed, pressed into the corner, wrapped in the covers. He looked flushed, out of breath, and not so little shocked at his sudden appearance. 

“You… You- you… You went out,” he gasped.

“I never went,” Nickel explained. “I changed my mind. I thought we should… What’s going on in here?” 

“N- nothing,” Taven yelled. “I ain’t doing nothing, I swear.”

Nickel frowned. What was the matter with the boy? It wasn’t only that he was obviously lying, but he looked strange, as well. If Nickel didn’t know better he would have thought the slave was drunk. Taven seemed to have problems focusing his eyes, and didn’t seem to be aware of how loudly he spoke. 

He stepped up to the bed. “Don’t lie to me, boy,” he warned. “What are you doing in bed already? Are you ill?” Worried, he reached out a hand to feel at Taven’s sweaty forehead. Did he have a fever? 

Taven ducked his hand and scrambled away from him, unintentionally revealing something hidden under his pillow in the process. Nickel snatched it up, eyes widening. The box of overly strong suppositories they’d given him for Taven to take after surgery. He tore the box open. It was empty.

Nickel went cold all over. How many capsules had there been left? Oh God, he couldn’t remember. Had there been more than two? Had Taven taken them all? “What did you do?” he yelled. “How many of these did you take?”

“I- I…”

“I asked, _how many did you take_?” Nickel roared. 

Taven stared at him with fearful eyes. “T- t- two… I- I just took two. You said two was okay… Before, when…”

“Are you sure you only took two? God help you if you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not. I swear I’m not, Master. It was only two left, and I just…” He silenced abruptly. “I… I wasn’t, like… I wasn’t trying to kill myself or anything,” he said. 

Relief washed over Nickel, but it did nothing to abate his anger. “Then why on earth did you take them?” he demanded, crumbling the empty box in his raised fist. 

Taven cowered under it. He pulled the cover up to his chin, holding on as if he was trying to protect himself from an imminent attack. 

Nickel let his hand sink, immediately feeling bad at the sight. He hadn’t meant to scare the boy. 

He sat down at the bedside with a deep sigh. “I’m not really angry with you, boy, but I am worried. I tell you I’m going out, and this is the first you do, rifle through my bathroom cabinet, as soon as you think I’ve left. It’s not even the thieving, Taven, but taking drugs behind my back… You can’t do that, you just can’t. If you’re not feeling well, if you’re ill, or hurting somewhere, you have to tell me. Medicating yourself, it can be dangerous don’t you realize that? Just tell me if you don’t feel well. You have to know I wouldn’t be angry.” 

“I… I ain’t sick,” Taven murmured, not looking at him. 

“Well, you must be hurting _somewhere_, if you took these, and…” 

“I told you,” Taven rudely interrupted. “It’s nothing.”

Nickel reached for the covers and pulled at them. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, annoyed. “There’s clearly something wrong with you. What are you hiding? Just show me what’s wrong, I’ll help you…” 

Taven pulled the covers out if his hands. “No,” he yelled. “No! Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me… Don’t look!”

Nickel grabbed a hold of the covers once again. “I only want to help you,” he tried. “You know I don’t care how you look. Just show me where you hurt. I won’t…”

“No! Get the fuck away from me! Go away! Don’t fucking touch me!”

Nickel couldn’t help his anger. He only wanted to help. Why could the boy never trust him? Had they not come further? This wasn’t those first days, when he could still forgive such rude and defiant behavior. He let go off the covers and grabbed Taven by his upper arms instead, forcefully pulling him closer. “You do _not_ speak to me in such a way, slave,” he growled. “Do you understand?” 

Taven freaked out.

Screaming as if he thought Nickel would kill him he fought violently against his hold. Nickel was shocked at the explosive reaction, and acted on it on pure instinct. He wrestled the yelling and writhing slave to his back on the bed and trapped Taven’s ferociously kicking legs under his own body; helped by the covers the boy had already snared himself into. When Taven tried to claw him in the face, Nickel caught his flailing arms by the wrists and pressed them down into the mattress over his head. 

“For goodness sake, calm down…” he tried. Nickel was more than worried now. Taven was having some kind of panic attack, he thought, and he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should just release the boy, and leave him alone, but he didn’t dare to. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he rambled on. “I’m only holding you, so you won’t hurt yourself. It’s all right, Taven, calm down. You’re safe with me; do you hear me?”

No, between the screams, and the struggling and bucking, the boy was most likely not hearing a word he was saying, but, eventually, he ran out of steam. Taven stopped fighting, but he was still tense as a bowstring, shaking all over, breathing heavily, and staring as if he’d never seen his master before. 

“Shh…” Nickel said calmingly, carefully loosening the hard grip of Taven’s wrist to caress him over the head and his flushed cheeks. “Hush, Taven, it’s all right. I got you. I’d never hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

Finally, there was sanity in the boy’s eyes again. He started sobbing. “I’m sorry, Master,” he cried. “I’m sorry…” 

“It’s all right, boy. I’m not angry. I only want to help you. I only ever wanted to help. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? You can always speak freely with me, remember?”

A shudder went through the boy. “You… You _will_ be angry, I know you will,” he sniveled. “You’ll think I’m disgusting.”

“No, of course I won’t,” Nickel promised. “Just tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it, together.”

Taven still hesitated. “If I show you, please don’t throw me out, Master. Please don’t!”

Nickel was more confused by the second. What could be so bad Taven thought he would discard him? “Of course I won’t.” he repeated. “I promise; whatever it is, I’m not going to throw you out.”

Taven looked far from convinced, but when he tried to move away from him again, this time Nickel backed off and gave him the room. Puzzled he sat down at the bedside and watched a completely naked Taven freeing himself from the covers, turn on all fours, hide his face in the mattress, and part his legs widely. 

Nickel stared. 

Between Taven’s pale and scarred buttocks a strange black shape appeared. At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at, but then there was a hot flush over his cheeks when he realized what he was seeing was the oblong base of either a dildo or an anal plug, and it was obviously buried deeply up Taven’s ass. 

Nickel almost bounced off the bed and onto his feet. “What the _hell_?” he said, unable to hide his shock. 

“It… It’s a dildo, Master,” Taven helpfully informed him. There was no mistaking the shame in his voice.

“Yes, I can see that,” Nickel said, unable to take his eyes away from it, his cheeks still glowing. “Take it out,” he ordered. “Just…Take it _out_!”

Taven reached a shaking hand back, groping between his legs.

Nickel grabbed at his arm. “No, wait….” Carefully, not to scare the boy again, he turned Taven around and pulled him to his feet. “I don’t want to see you do it,” he said, steering the boy toward the bathroom door. “Take your time; I’ll wait for you.” 

Taven slinked inside the door and speedily shut it behind him. He took such a long time Nickel was just about to check on him, when the door finally opened again. Taven halted in the doorway, staring at his feet, holding his arms behind his back. Shame radiated from his whole being. 

Nickel had no idea how to handle this. He had no experience with ‘toys’ of this kind, and the whole situation made him both embarrassed and uncomfortable, to say the least. “Uh, did you get it out all right?” he finally asked. 

“Yes, Master,” Taven said. He didn’t look up, but he stepped forward and brought his right hand out from behind his back, holding the dildo out to him. “Here, Master.”

Nickel couldn’t help backing away in disgust. “Ew! _I_ don’t want it,” he said, waving his hands in front of him.

“I- I washed it off,” Taven said. 

Nickel stared at the object Taven held out to him. The sheer size of it made him aghast. How on earth had the boy managed to fit all of _that_ up that small ass of his? “Ah, you… You washed it. That’s good, I suppose… Um, well, put it on the table then.”

Taven obeyed. He stepped up to the table and put the dildo down, but he remained back to him, head hanging. “I told you,” he said. His shoulders trembled and his voice was choked. “I told you, you’d think I’m fucking disgusting.” 

“That’s not what I think,” Nickel protested. “I’m not disgusted, and I’m not angry, I just don’t understand… Where did you get that- that… thing, and… What on earth possessed you to push it up your… Why would you _do_ such a thing?”

“You couldn’t use me, Master.” Taven cried. “You didn’t wanna fuck me. I just… I just wanted to open me up. For you.”


	38. A Proper Scolding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nickel might be just the tiiiiniest bit of a hypocrite in this chapter...
> 
> /Fran

Taven listened at the study door, hearing his master calling someone… Calling… Serenity? He heard Nickel tell him to come over to the mansion. Serenity must have had an excuse not to, since there was a short moment of silence before the man angrily sputtered, he ‘didn’t care’, to ‘make something up’, and to ‘get your ass over here within twenty minutes, or else…’

He stepped away from the door, leaned against the wall, and slid down along it with a depressed sigh. His master had told him to go to bed, but he wouldn’t, not yet. He would sit on the carpeted floor outside his master’s study, at least until Serenity showed up, he thought. 

Taven wasn’t altogether sure why. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to face Serenity right now, but he supposed it would be a suitably awful ending to a fucking awful day.

He knew he shouldn’t complain. The fact his master had caught him with a dildo up his ass was bad enough, by all means, but it could have ended worse. Nickel hadn’t been as angry as he’d feared. His master had only told him to get dressed, put the dildo in a trash bag from the bathroom, and follow him to the study, where, strange enough, there had been no mentioning of punishment whatsoever. Nickel had only ordered him to explain himself. 

Taven sighed again. He’d told the man everything… well, some of it, anyway.

The days after his monumental fuck up in his master’s bedroom, Taven hadn’t been able to get over the shame, and he had hated his damn fucking body even more than usual. 

He’d been angry with Nickel, too. It was so fucking stupid how the man had pulled out just because he’d made some noise, ruining the whole thing, refusing to give him the chance he needed to show how useful he could be. If his master had only held him down and kept going he would have loosened up eventually, Taven was sure. There might have been more pain, and maybe tearing, but he had more of that cream, and… Nickel should have just gone on. 

However, the man hadn’t. Taven was too tight, obviously, and his master didn’t like it. 

How the fuck could he be too tight? Taven didn’t get it. Hadn’t he been fucked enough in his life? The man didn’t even have that big of a cock. Maybe he had sort of ‘shrunk’ with time, Taven had thought, thinking it had been a while since he’d been fucked. 

So, his master preferred it loose and easy, gaping assholes and all that shit, but he didn’t want to chafe his own cock getting it the way he wanted it? Well, then Taven had thought he should help out, and loosening it up himself. 

Standing before the large desk only a moment ago, he hadn’t explained it quite like this to his master. No, he’d stared at his feet, twisted his braid around his fingers and stumbled on his words, telling Nickel he thought he’d ‘grown too tight’, and just wanted to fix it. It was as good a summary of his reasoning as any.

Thankfully, his master hadn’t asked for details, so he didn’t have to tell him how desperately he’d tried to find something suitable to loosen up his asshole with. He’d tried it with his fingers first, and then the handle of the hairbrush, but those weren’t big enough. In contrast, a shampoo bottle had turned out to be way too big, and it just hurt too fucking much, he couldn’t do it. 

In the kitchens, Taven had started to see stuff like carrots and cucumbers with completely new eyes, but there was never a chance to snatch something from the pantry. The house slaves were always around, and let some of the workers into the kitchens at night, as well, to sleep where it was warmer. He hadn’t known what to do.

Then Serenity had called. 

Hanging out with Serenity was the least Taven had wanted at a time like that, but, again, he’d changed his mind. It had occurred to him it was actually a chance to get away from it all for a while, and how he wouldn’t have to think about the problem of his uncooperative asshole for a few hours. He’d said yes, but in the car over, he’d laid down the law. Serenity was _not_ to push him to talk about himself, and he didn’t want to hear a fucking word about his master this time, or he would punch Serenity in the fucking nose. 

Serenity had taken this threat to his precious looks seriously, it seemed. He had mostly babbled on about himself, showing Taven around his house. Taven had only listened with half an ear, not interested in how Serenity lived, but he _had_ forgotten about his problems for a short time. 

At least until Serenity had showed him his bedroom upstairs. 

The bedroom was weird, to say the least, and Taven’s eyes had widened in surprise, looking about the small space. It was packed full of women stuff. There were dresses everywhere, feathered hats, furs, jewelry, handbags, shoes, and, like, a million other things Taven didn’t even know what they were. 

Serenity had laughed at his dumbfounded expression and explained how the cottage had used to house an old lady, a relative to his master, who’d preferred to live out her last years away from the main building. The old Engel lady had kept her things from youth, and when Serenity moved into the cottage, years after her death, he’d discovered all this vintage women stuff had been left untouched. 

‘_Just look at this_’, Serenity had said, flinging some sparkly sequined dress in his face. ‘_This stuff is fucking amazing. I just had to keep it. They don’t make it like this today, you know. Besides_’, he’d continued, holding the dress in front himself before a large ornate mirror. ‘_I can actually wear some of these, with some alterations of course, though the shoes are way too small, sadly_’. 

Taven had rolled his eyes behind Serenity’s back while the tall slave admired himself in the mirror, no doubt planning to wear that shiny dress to the fucking club, or something, and that’s when he’d spotted them… Serenity’s ‘toys’. 

A wicker basket had peeked halfway out from under Serenity’s bed, and its contents weren’t entirely unfamiliar to Taven. Dildos and butt plugs. Taven stared; he didn’t think the old clan lady had left _those_ behind when she’d croaked. 

Serenity had turned around and caught him staring at the basket, and if Taven had thought he would be embarrassed, he’d proved him wrong. Serenity had only laughed. ‘_Found my porn stash, did you?_’ he’d grinned. 

No, Serenity had sure not been the least bit embarrassed, on the contrary, he’d pulled out the basket, and showed him the rest of the stuff, too. Cock rings, vibrators, gay magazines with huge guys – looking like Mr. Roth – on the covers, and all. He’d explained how he bought stuff by mail order, for money his master apparently gave him to buy clothes and shit. He’d laughed heartily at how he’d managed to get forbidden stuff behind his master’s back, faking the old man’s signature, and said, ‘_a man’s gotta treat himself, right? If your master’s not up for it, what are you gonna do_?’ 

Then it was like Taven’s warnings in the car was completely forgotten and Serenity had started talking about Nickel, after all, blue eyes glittering with amusement. He’d told him how shocked Nickel would be at the collection if he knew about it. ‘_Don’t get me wrong_’, he’d said. ‘_Your master sure likes to fuck, oh does he ever, but he really is somewhat of a prude nevertheless. Sheesh, just try to suggest some kinky stuff, and watch him go all flustered. No luck in that department at all, believe me, but he makes up for it with gentle attention and all the sweetness in the world, doesn’t he?_’ 

Taven had no fucking idea. Did he? 

Serenity had laughed again, and said Nickel would just be totally disgusted with his toys, but then he’d seemed to tire of showing him stuff and suggested they go down to the living room and have another soda. 

When Serenity had turned to lead the way, Taven had quickly snatched a dildo from the basket and hid it under his clothes, happy now Serenity’s perfect looks had made him want to hide his own flawed body in the baggiest clothes he’d been able to find in his closets. 

Back in the living room, Taven had been more distracted than ever, trying to appear as if he was listening to Serenity’s gossip, when all he could think of was to keep the big black fake cock from falling out of his clothes. He’d regretted not taking a slightly smaller butt plug instead, as it would probably work better in his ass, but it wasn’t as if he had had the time to choose carefully up there. He’d only had a second to grab something. 

Well, Serenity had never noticed anything out of the ordinary. He’d taken Taven home a short while later. 

Taven had informed his master about this, too, admitting the dildo came from Serenity’s place, but he hadn’t mentioned a word about what the tall slave had spoken of. He didn’t think his master would be happier knowing Serenity had called him a ‘prude’. 

He didn’t need to inform his master about the rest, since the man had already witnessed most of that himself.

Returning from the Engel estate, Taven had hidden the dildo in his room, not daring to use it at first. Serenity had been clear about just how disgusted his master was about such things, and the man did have a tendency to pop into his room at odd hours. However, already two days later Taven had seen his chance. His master had informed him he was going out with Mr. Roth, but not to The Club, so he wasn’t to come with them. 

Taven hadn’t wasted any time. As soon as his master had walked out the main entry, he’d done exactly what Nickel had accused him of, he’d run up to the man’s bedroom and found the ‘ass pills’ in his bathroom cabinet. Taven had known the dildo would hurt. It might not have the girth of a shampoo bottle, but it was still too big for comfort, and he needed the strong fast-working pills to dull the pain. He’d grabbed the bottle of lube, too. 

He’d been convinced his master would never know. Nickel wouldn’t be home until late and Taven would have plenty of time to put it all back when he was done. The house slaves didn’t come to his room anymore either, unless the master sent them. It had seemed the perfect opportunity. 

Taven still didn’t understand how the fuck it could be his master had stepped inside, just when he had finally managed to get the damn lubed-up dildo all the way into his body. How? How the fuck…? The man was _going out_.

However, Nickel _had_ stepped into his room at just that moment and it had fucking scared him half to death. Taven really hadn’t meant to act as badly as he had. He’d only panicked, sort of. Serenity’s words had been a constant presence in his head, and the man rejecting him, as soon as he realized what a disgusting little shit he was, had seemed the inevitable outcome. 

As by some miracle that hadn’t happened, but the whole idiotic thing had sure not helped him either.

“Hey, Taven!”

Taven looked up, startled out of his depressed thoughts. Oh, Serenity had arrived, and, not surprising, he looked worried. 

“You don’t happen to know what this is about, do you?” he asked. “Nickel just calls me out of the blue, and sounds angry like hell, and… You didn’t tell him all the stuff we talked about, right? Tell me you didn’t!”

Taven shook his head. “I haven’t said shit about any of that,” he assured Serenity. “I don’t know what he wants with you. I told him you had nothing to do with it, I swear.”

This didn’t make Serenity look less worried. “What do you mean?” he said. “Having to do with what?” 

Taven wasn’t given a chance to explain further, or warn Serenity. His master opened the door and stared angrily at them both. “Taven, I told you to go to bed,” he said. “Serenity…” Nickel stepped aside and held the door open for Serenity, motioning him inside. 

Serenity obeyed, but it wasn’t hard to see he did so with not a small amount of trepidation. 

Taven understood him. His master gave him a final frown before closing the door, and Taven quickly leapt to his feet in response, but he still wouldn’t go back to his room. How could he sleep now? No, he only slipped down the hallway and behind a wall, where he would be out of sight if his master looked out the door again, but could still catch Serenity leaving.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel grabbed one of the chairs along the wall and brought it to the middle of the room. Normally he wouldn’t have allowed a slave a seat in here – he didn't order them to the study to make themselves comfortable – but Serenity was just so darn tall.

“Sit!” he ordered.

Serenity obeyed.

Nickel took his time walking behind his desk, picking the plastic bag up from the floor, and of course, Serenity couldn’t keep from talking out of turn.

“Master, what have I…?”

“Did I tell you, you could speak?” Nickel barked, cutting him off.

Serenity’s eyes widened.

Nickel didn’t let Serenity’s fearful expression get to him. Did the slave think he still had a claim to familiarity with him? He would take him out of that notion.

He turned the plastic bag upside down over the desktop and let the contents fall. It landed with a dull thud, and Serenity’s eyes turned as big as saucers. 

“Do you by any chance recognize this object?” Nickel asked.

Serenity only stared, obviously at a loss for words. 

“I asked; _does this belong to you_?” Nickel roared, making Serenity almost elevate from the chair.

“I- I think so. I mean… I do have one like that, but… How could it be here? I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” 

“Taven had it,” Nickel informed him. “I caught him using it.”

Serenity’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Did you show him this? Did you give it to him?”

There was no answer, only a confused stare.

“_Well_?” Nickel roared again, banging his fist on the desktop so hard the dildo bounced. 

Serenity bounced on the chair, as well. “No, Master.” He was quick to deny his involvement now. “I’d never have given him that. I didn’t, I swear. If he had it, he stole it. I had nothing to do with it.”

Nickel nodded. “So far, your stories match. Taven did indeed tell me he took it behind your back. Be happy you just gave me such an utterly stupid expression of sheer surprise, because if I’d had a reason to doubt the truth of that… It’s the only… I repeat, the _only_, thing, which keeps me from telling your master about this and demand to have you punished, do you understand?”

Serenity shrank back on the chair and nodded wordlessly.

“Now, don’t believe for one second this means you’re off the hook with me,” he continued. “Have you forgotten the conditions for seeing Taven?”

Serenity shook his head. “No, Master.”

“Then what part of not involving Taven in your sex life, in any way, shape or form, did you not understand?” Nickel yelled. “Did you think it wouldn’t include showing him this damn sexual device of yours?”

“I… I didn’t _show_ him. I was just giving him a tour of the cottage, and he must have happened to see them when we got to my bedroom, and…”

“_Them_? Now you’re telling me you have a collection?”

Serenity turned his head away and didn’t answer.

Nickel shook his head; he supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised. “This is disgusting,” he continued. “Littering your bedroom with sex toys, like some common… I highly doubt your master would approve of this, and even if he does, I don’t. If you ever want to see Taven again, you will keep any such proof of your tasteless pastimes locked away when he visits. Do I make myself clear?” 

Serenity hung his head. “Yes, Master,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of putting them away, and I really had no idea he would…” His repentant voice suddenly changed into one of rebellious indignation. “It’s not as if stuff like that would be, like, new to him or anything, though. I mean, it’s obvious he isn’t some kind of innocent virgin. I bet he’s been with way more people than I have, and…”

Nickel was around the desk before Serenity had time to finish the sentence, twisting the slave’s shirt breast in his fist, jerking him half way up from the chair and raising his arm. 

Serenity yelped and stared up at his hand in shock. 

Nickel was shocked, too, at his own rage. He’d never raised a hand to Serenity before, and he didn’t really want to slap him at all. Nickel slowly let his arm sink. He allowed Serenity to sit back down, too, but he didn’t release the hold of his shirt, forcing the slave to look at him. 

He was still angry.

“It’s all just a game to you, isn’t it?” he said. “Sex… Being with someone… It’s all just playing around… Well, it isn’t a game to Taven. He doesn’t have your privileges; there’s been no ‘yes or no’ for him, no choices. Has he had more sex than you have? Probably, maybe even likely, but he’s never ‘been’ with anyone, he’s only ever been _used_. I didn’t order you to keep him out of your sexual games because he’s an ‘innocent virgin’, but to protect him from further abuse and pressure. Can you at all appreciate this difference, you spoiled brat?” 

Serenity looked devastated. “I- I can… I understand the difference, Master… I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt him. I’d never…”

Nickel finally released Serenity’s shirt breast and turned away. He wasn’t less angry, but he did believe Serenity wouldn’t intentionally hurt Taven. 

“I… I _can_ still see him, can’t I?” Serenity begged behind him. “I’ll be more careful in the future, I promise. Please… Please don’t shut me out.” 

Again, Nickel took his time, walking back to his standing position behind the desk, staring at the squirming slave on the chair, thinking it over. “As far as I can tell,” he finally said. “It seems you didn’t actually break the rules, and technically I suppose I can only fault you for being sloppy with your belongings, as usual. You can still see him, occasionally. Just keep my orders in mind, and remember; I won’t give you a second chance.” 

“I will, Master. I won’t forget. Thank you, thank you so…”

“That will be all.” Nickel abruptly cut him off. “You can go… And take this hideous monstrosity with you!” he added, giving the dildo an utterly disgusted look. 

“Yes, Master.” 

Serenity hurried up to the desk, grabbed the dildo and speedily shoved it back into the plastic bag. However, even though Nickel had so obviously dismissed the slave, Serenity didn’t leave. He only stood there, nervously twisting the bag tighter and tighter around the dildo, throwing wavering glances in his direction. 

“_What_?” Nickel demanded.

Serenity looked everywhere but in his eyes. “I was just… I only… Do you… Do you hate me?”

Nickel was silent for several heartbeats at the unexpected question, but then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t. Now, go!”

\-----o0o-----

Serenity came to a surprised halt when Taven stepped out in front of him from behind the wall at the end of the hallway, but startling the tall slave was probably not the reason he gave him such an icy stare.

“Um… Was he very angry?” Taven asked. 

“Yes,” Serenity answered. “He was very angry. Do you realize what kind of trouble you could have caused me? Do you realize how fucking lucky I am your master apparently only decided to scare the shit out of me, and won’t take this to Constantine?” 

Taven looked down; he didn’t know what to say.

“From now on,” Serenity added. “You’ll keep your kleptomaniacal fingers off my stuff! Get it?” 

Serenity was clearly angry with him, and it made Taven angry, too. He’d told his master it was all his own doing, he couldn’t help it if the man didn’t believe him, could he? Taven wanted to yell at the stuck up bastard that he wasn’t some fucking klep… whatever that was, but… In the end, he kept hanging his head and didn’t say a thing.

He really hadn’t meant to get Serenity in trouble, but, he had, and the thought of Serenity hating him for this made him feel real damn shitty. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring at his feet.

Serenity wasn’t listening; he’d already stormed past him, and left.


	39. A Talk in the Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nickel tries, he really does, but he really isn’t making things less complicated for poor Taven in this chapter.
> 
> I would like to take the opportunity, again, to thank everybody for the hits, kudos, fanart, and, not least, the kind, nice and interesting comments, I've gotten so far. Thank you all. Every nice thing like that, big or small, really does make my day, every time. 
> 
> /Fran

Nickel slumped down on the garden bench, looking about him with a sigh. The gardens were at their most spectacular at this time of year, lush and rich, the numerous flowerbeds overflowing. Himself, he wasn’t overly fond of the colorful arrangements, thinking them a bit too much. 

His father had designed them, nursing a lifelong passion for gardening. Nickel didn’t share the interest and would gladly have cut back on the flowers. However, his father had personally trained and educated several slaves to do nothing but care for his horticultural creations, and Nickel had no idea what to do with them if he did cut back. Besides, in spite of the fact his father had moved out, and started up new projects, he still returned every summer to inspect his original gardens, often getting hands on with the work himself, even at his advanced years. If Nickel would order as much as a single plant dug up, his father would notice _and_ disapprove, he was sure. 

Well, he hadn’t come down to the gardens this morning to look critically at the summer bloom, but to think. 

Catching Taven using a dildo in his room yesterday hadn’t been half as uncomfortable as the boy’s reason for doing so. Nickel hadn’t understood Taven had been under such pressure to please him, and he’d been fast to blame it on Serenity.

He felt somewhat bad about that this morning. 

There had been no need to force Serenity to come out here. Nickel knew he could have inquired about his involvement over the phone. Clearing out any misunderstandings about the rules, and tell him to keep his disgusting toys better hidden next time, could easily have been carried out over the same medium. So, why had he felt this strong urge to humiliate and intimidate Serenity face to face? 

Deep down, Nickel knew why. 

He would never admit to anyone how he’d fallen in love with Serenity, but if someone close to him, such as Roth, had pressured him about it, he might have said he’d had ‘a crush’ on Constantine Engel’s tall and beautiful favorite. Of course, he’d noticed him for years. It was hard _not_ noticing Serenity. He remembered how he’d stared at the blond boy, even as far back as his teenage years, visiting the Engel Mansion with his father, thinking the slave was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t until he’d borrowed Serenity’s services as an attendant, though, a little more than eighteen months ago, Nickel had understood the interest was mutual. 

It had excited him to no end. 

Nickel had always known he was bisexual, long before he’d even heard the word. From an early age, he’d checked out both boys and girls in approximately equal measures, and couldn’t really fathom how most people seemed to recognize the beauty and sexual allure in one gender, but not the other. However, for most of his life, he’d been much too aware of the social mores to express any interest in other men openly, and had only dated women. Serenity had changed this. 

Serenity had been so eager to please, so open in his admiration of him, so unabashed and playful, and in the end, the fact of Serenity’s status had made him throw all caution aside. Why, playing with a slave, girl _or_ boy, was fully expected of a healthy young lord, wasn’t it? No one would think anything of it, not the way they would have if he’d given in to his urges and dated a free male commoner, or, god forbid, another lord. The clans were not quite as bothered by gender as they were about status, at least as long as things were taken care of discreetly. 

He’d paid a visit to Constantine.

If that had been all, he might not still be upset about Serenity cheating on him, but there had been more to it.

Not a very forward person by nature, Nickel wouldn’t say he was anything close to a ‘woman’s man’, but he was fairly good-looking, and, of course, wealthy aristocracy. There hadn’t been a lack of young women approaching him whenever he was out somewhere. Now and then, he’d taken advantage of the fact. However, Serenity was the first man he’d ever touched, and he hadn’t been able to pretend any skills in this area, nor had he tried to impress the much more experienced slave. He’d admitted his insecurity in bed when it came to male partners, and Serenity had taught him. 

Nickel had showed vulnerability, and he’d expected discretion. 

Then, in spite of it all, he’d occasionally been tempted to forget the very social rift between them that had made it seem possible to have sex with Serenity in the first place. Oh, Nickel didn’t think he’d ever let on anywhere in his own circles how he would sometimes let Serenity act above his status. He’d kept it to his private rooms, or to the South End, where Roth sometimes had taken them for a night out, and where no one knew anything about them. Nickel hadn’t been able to resist, not when the slave had positively blossomed being at his side instead of two steps behind, and a happy Serenity had always resulted in a night of many pleasures. 

He had expected gratitude and loyalty for this.

It hadn’t been long before he learned Serenity had been neither discreet nor loyal, or grateful. A few months later, Constantine had taken him aside and told him of Serenity’s disobedience and indiscretions. He wasn’t saving himself for Nickel, and his own master, as was the agreement. 

Nickel had been hurt, yes, such as any man would have been learning of a lover’s unfaithfulness, but the blow to his pride had been just as bad. He could to this day not believe how naïve he’d been. 

However, this same pride didn’t allow him to express how he felt about it. As a free person, and a clan lord, he’d showed enough weakness as it was. Nickel had preferred to let people believe he’d only used Serenity for sex, and that he’d eventually simply tired of the slave. With someone like Serenity, it was easy enough to believe, Nickel thought, and who would ever think a lord would actually invest any deeper feelings in such an arrangement, anyway? 

He’d put up the same front to Serenity, and had coldly dismissed him, ignoring his pleas to talk, ordering him to stay away. 

Roth was probably the only one who understood what he really felt, as he was also the only one who’d seen Serenity and him together, acting almost like a ‘dating couple’. Nickel blushed at the memory. He would never make _that_ mistake again. Well, Roth had turned out to be the discreet and loyal one, and had never thrown Nickel’s ‘shame’ in his face. 

With Serenity gone from his life, and the only witness never mentioning it, Nickel had simply pushed the unfortunate affair aside, and preferred not thinking about it. Consequently, he’d never dealt with it either. He’d told himself there was nothing to deal with, and that he’d soon enough gotten over it. 

He had to admit to himself that this wasn’t entirely true. Nickel had obviously been angry with Serenity ever since, and the reason he hadn’t been to The Club for so long was that he’d wanted to avoid Serenity, knowing very well Constantine enjoyed going there and would often bring his attendant. When he _had_ finally run into the slave, alcohol had loosened his tongue, and he hadn’t been able to refrain from his snide, not to say cruel, remarks. Of course, the slave had been overly familiar with him, and should know better, but it wasn’t why he’d been so sharp. It was as if he’d only waited for the flimsiest excuse to tear into Serenity, and yesterday’s incident had given him an excuse, all right. 

Nickel _had_ been angry and worried on Taven’s behalf, but there was no excuse for the sinister pleasure that had lurked somewhere deep down, seeing Serenity cringe before him. It wasn’t right, Nickel thought. If he was going to yell at Serenity it should be for the sins he’d actually committed. Who was it, after all, who had put this kind of pressure on Taven? Himself and no one else.

Oh, but he hadn’t understood. 

Early on, Nickel had been convinced if he couldn’t hide his attraction, if he touched Taven, or tried to kiss him, and the boy wasn’t interested, he would react strongly enough against it. After all, he’d shown no such inhibitions the first days here. Well, Nickel had gotten himself drunk and done just that. He’d touched the boy with obvious intent, but Taven hadn’t reacted nearly as bad as might be expected. Seemingly, Taven wasn’t altogether opposed to the idea. However, Nickel had realized soon enough that this was mostly because the boy saw having sex with his master as _work_. 

As with many other things, Taven had obviously decided to try to ‘behave’ in this area, as well.

Nickel had to admit, deep down, this stung, but considering the boy’s background, he could hardly blame Taven. He hadn’t given up hope, though, thinking there might still be a chance Taven could enjoy being with him, if only he was given time to become more comfortable around his master. If Taven learned to trust him, if he could relax around him, and come to understand his master’s affection and good intentions, he’d eventually lay aside this notion sex was only an assignment he had to endure and finish. 

Yes, Nickel thought, they simply only needed to get to know each other better, and when Taven was ready to grasp things, he would talk to the boy. In the meantime, he’d tried to avoid the temptation. 

It seemed Taven had had other plans. 

He’d been surprised when Taven had asked him to ‘fuck him’, but he’d immediately understood where the boy was coming from. Taven wanted another chance to ‘prove himself useful’. Obviously, the slave’s ‘surprise sex attack’ on his nether regions in the middle of the night had then been yet another desperate attempt to prove his worth. Nickel wasn’t stupid; he got it. 

However, in the midst of this utterly awkward moment it was as if the penny had suddenly dropped for Taven. In a flash, the boy had understood what was wrong, and he’d ceased all attempts to ‘do a good job’ and had simply let his true desire come to the surface.

Taven had asked his master to make love to him. 

All troubles had seemed worth it for that single moment. Deeply touched at the vulnerable plea for closeness, Nickel had agreed. He’d done his best to be as gentle as possible, and make it nice for Taven. 

It hadn’t been altogether uncomplicated. No matter how strongly Nickel felt about the slave, things weren’t easy. The boy’s scars… Nickel didn’t want Taven to feel bad about how he looked, and would never openly admit to being uncomfortable, but… he was. It wasn’t that Taven’s body disgusted him, of course it didn’t. Taven naked, his hair flowing, had clearly aroused him, but how could he see those scars and not think they were unsightly? How could he touch them without that horrible monster Swift lurking somewhere at the edges of his mind? 

Naturally, he’d tried to conceal it, but Taven had still caught on. The boy had noticed how Nickel hesitated to touch his skin, or had maybe understood how he’d almost made a point of touching the area of his missing nipple, as if he wanted to prove to them both he wasn’t bothered. 

No, he hadn’t fooled Taven, because, in spite of the boy’s insistence they go through with it, he’d obviously not been relaxed and comfortable enough. He’d tensed up when Nickel had tried to penetrate him, and it had hurt. 

Taven had finally let him close, but Nickel had let himself be tempted into rushing it, and it had completely screwed up the whole damn thing. He shouldn’t have listened to the boy.

He’d felt so bad, so embarrassed at his failure, that he’d avoided talking with Taven, not knowing what to say to gain back the boy’s trust. However, it was probably for the best he hadn’t talked with the slave, as Nickel had so utterly misunderstood the whole thing. 

Taven had tried to ‘stretch his asshole for easier access,’ and this desperate attempt told Nickel there had never been any ‘pennies dropped’. When Taven had asked him ‘to make love to him’, he’d only tried to find a better way to get past his master’s defenses, so he’d get a chance to show he could ‘do the work’. 

He should have known.

There had been signs, after all, which, in hindsight, seemed clear enough. Most noticeably, Taven hadn’t gotten an erection. At the time, Nickel had put this fact down to nerves, and he’d told himself Taven would get hard soon enough, given a chance to relax and get more into it. However, ‘nerves’ had clearly not had anything to do with it. Taven had simply never been turned on, at all. 

Again, this stung, but how could he be angry? Yes, technically, Taven had lied to him, but the slave had only acted as he’d been taught all his life. He didn’t understand what Nickel wanted from him, and he’d tried to ‘please’. Goodness, the poor boy didn’t even know what foreplay was. 

Nickel sighed deeply. They were back to square one, and there was nothing to it, he had to talk to Taven properly this time. 

He still wasn’t sure how he was going to put things so the slave would understand, but he’d ordered Taven to meet him in the gardens in only a few minutes, so he had to think of something. 

A little while later, Nickel heard soft shuffling steps behind him, and he turned on the garden bench to look Taven over, raising an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” he demanded to know. 

“Uh…” Taven looked down at his bare feet. “It’s just… The grass feels kinda good.”

“You really should wear shoes outside, boy. You’ll drag dirt inside and…” He cut himself short with a sigh. “Never mind,” he said. “Come sit with me!”

Taven obeyed, cautiously sitting down with more than a man’s breadth between them. “You still angry, Master?” he murmured, staring at his feet.

“No,” Nickel said. “Not anymore. You see, I acknowledge, in some ways, your work is harder than the others’. The other slaves all have a clear place in this house, but for you… By its very nature, your job has less defined borders between what’s work and what’s not. I do realize the confusion this might cause you, and I’m not angry it made you do certain things.”

Taven didn’t answer. He was probably not making the boy less confused. Nickel started over. 

“I’ll try to explain,” he said. “Attending me in public, this is of course work, and nothing else. I will have demands on you when you’re attending me. If you’re not doing it correctly we will practice more, and if you willfully mess things up, I’ll punish you accordingly. You understand this, don’t you?”

Taven nodded. 

“School, well, it’s not technically your work, but it’s important _for_ your work, so, the same basic rules apply.”

The boy kept nodding. He seemed to be with him, so far.

“Keeping me company, and serving me personally, in private… Well, here’s where things become more complicated. It _is_ your work, but, it can’t be helped there will be aspects of it, which is not. It’s like when Roth is with me on town sometimes. He’s there as my bodyguard, but, he’s my friend, too, so, even though he’s working, we won’t stop talking and joking with each other, as friends. Do you understand what I mean?”

Taven sat up straight and stopped staring at his feet. “I think so, Master,” he said. 

Judging from his expression there did seem to be a feeble light bulb going off, Nickel thought. Encouraged, he went on. “I realize things would be easier for you if it was always completely clear what is work, or what isn’t, but it’s not always easy to tell, even for me. It’s possible for someone to fulfill several roles at the same time, after all, and they might be too mixed up to fully separate.”

“Great,” Taven said, sounding bitter. “I’m gonna do wrong and not even know it. I’ll get punished all the fucking time.” 

“No,” Nickel said. “You’re wrong. With another master, it might be true, but I wouldn’t be so unfair to you. Granted, I can’t promise I would always be unfalteringly fair, no one can promise such a thing, but I’m aware how complicated things are, and how volatile the situation is. I _can_ promise I’ll consider this, and give you the benefit of the doubt. It doesn’t mean there will never be punishment, but I’ll go easy on you. Do you believe me?”

Taven nodded again, but it was with obvious hesitation.

“Keep this in mind, boy, when I tell you this,” Nickel went on, ignoring Taven’s near disbelief. “When it comes to sex…Well, it’s not your work.”

Not until now did Taven turn his head to look at him. “It ain’t?” he blurted out. There was both surprise and worry in his voice. 

Nickel shook his head in all seriousness. “No, it most certainly is _not_.” 

“But… But- but… But I _can_ do it good, Master. Just let me, and I’ll…”

“I know, boy,” Nickel interrupted. “I know. I’m not talking about your skills. You giving me that surprise blowjob… Well, there sure wasn’t anything wrong with your technique.” Nickel grinned. 

“You liked it?” Taven asked, insecurity written all over his face.

Nickel grinned wider. “You bet I did. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, but it’s not part of your work as my attendant and personal slave. Even if Roth is in my employ, when we are out on the skeet-shooting field, work out together, or go to a bar, this is not part of his work. There are things we can do, too, which aren’t your work, and sex is one of them.” 

Taven stared at him. “Ain’t ever heard anyone say _that_ before,” he said.

“I know, boy. You’ve been taught all your life sex _is_ work and I suppose it’s how most masters would see it, too, but, as I’ve explained to you before… I’m a free man, and in private, with my own personal property, _I_ decide what the rules are. I’m telling you, with me, this isn’t your work. Do you understand what follows from this?”

Taven still looked as dumbfounded. “No,” he simply informed him.

Nickel repressed a sigh. He really should have talked to the boy much earlier. Thinking Taven eventually would be able to figure things out by himself was clearly a mistake. “Well, it means there’s no demand on you to do it well. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll try to make it better, or take a break, but there are no other consequences. I wouldn’t punish you for ‘not doing well in bed’, because it’s not work I demand you do well in the first place. 

The utterly suspicious expression Taven gave him would have almost been comical if this wasn’t so serious. “You… You wanna fuck me, Master, but… you don’t care if it’s good for you?”

Nickel did sigh deeply this time, in sheer frustration. “Of course I care. No matter whom I have sex with, I hope for it to be nice for all involved, but it’s not something I _demand_. If things don’t go well it’s not a ‘punishable offence’, do you understand? I want us both to enjoy it, _both_ of us, and… Taven, did you enjoy using that dildo? Did it turn you on?”

“Uh… No, it kinda hurt, and…”

“See? You hurting yourself to please me; doesn’t please me. It makes me sad. I didn’t pull out because your tightness didn’t please me. I pulled out because it hurt you, and when others hurt I’m not turned on anymore.” 

Taven looked as incredulous as ever. Could he really not perceive of such a thing as someone not enjoying his pain? It made Nickel’s heart ache. Well, whether he understood or not, Taven should at least be aware of the facts. “I don’t like others’ pain, period,” he clarified strictly. “I’d never punish you for what you might perceive as ‘failures in sexual service’. You being honest to me about what you feel and experience in bed is risk free, and you don’t have to pretend to like it, when you clearly don’t. Do you understand?”

“…wasn’t, like, bad, or anything,” Taven murmured, looking down at his feet again. “You’re a nice master, and all, much nicer than the rest.”

Nickel smiled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, at least.” He turned serious again. “I want… I hope we can learn to know each other better in this aspect, too. I’d like to find out what _your_ preferences are.”

Taven looked up. “My… What?”

Nickel didn’t know if the thought of having preferences was such a foreign concept to Taven, or if he just didn’t know the word. “Your preferences, your tastes, what you like and enjoy, and… Preferences.”

“Oh… Uh…” Taven squirmed beside him on the bench, and pulled at his braid. “I… I don’t know, Master. I’ve never thought of it, and it ain’t like no one ever asked.”

Nickel scooted closer and put an arm around Taven’s shoulders. “I understand it might be hard to figure out. I don’t demand an answer from you. If you think of something, later on, you can always tell me. All you need to know is; you don’t have to feel pressured to please me in bed, because it isn’t your work. Let’s just get to know each other, at our own pace, and if it happens, it happens.”

Taven leaned into him a bit. “Okay, Master.” 

“That’s a good boy,” Nickel said, rubbing his upper arm, brazing himself for taking the conversation in another direction. “It’s not all I wanted to see you about, Taven. I’m not angry with you, but I can’t turn a blind eye to the bad things you’ve done lately.”

Taven froze in his arms. 

“You know what you’ve done, don’t you?” Nickel said. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. If he’d learned anything about Taven, it was how often the boy didn’t understand what were obvious to him. 

“Eh… But- but you just said you’re not gonna punish me if I fuck up in bed.” 

Nickel fought his frustration. “Look, boy, you didn’t ‘fuck up’ in bed. I told you, when you sucked me off, it was… It was very nice, Taven, it really was, but… I hadn’t asked for it. I had informed you I was going up early the next morning and needed my sleep. I do understand why you did it, and I’m touched you were trying to please me and show what you can do. That’s not something I would ever punish you for, boy, but you should still never assume what a free person wants, or when they want it. Do you understand I’m displeased with how you didn’t let me sleep and how you overstepped your boundaries, not for – very expertly I might add – sucking me off?”

“Oh,” Taven said, hanging his head. “I… Yeah, I get that, Master. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Nickel nodded. “Yesterday’s incident presents a similar problem. I’m not at all angry you used that dildo. Again, I understand what you were trying to do, and that’s not something I would punish you for, but… You stole from me, boy, and you stole from Serenity, too.”

“But I didn’t really steal the dildo,” Taven tried. “It was more like… Like, borrowing, you know.”

“When you ‘borrow’ something; you _ask_. You don’t ask, that’s called stealing, slave.”

“I was gonna return it. He’d have never known.”

“Taven! You really don’t think, do you? You would have just slipped that thing back into his bedroom, not telling him someone else had used it. Would you have even thought of cleaning it? I can’t imagine sharing a sexual device in such a way is hygienic. We don’t know if _Serenity_ cleans those things properly. More to the point, can we be sure you wouldn’t have transferred something to him? Not that Serenity isn’t fully capable of contracting a few STD’s on his own, but…” 

The slave looked genuinely ashamed now. “I’ll tell him I’m sorry. I’ll do that formal apology-thing again.”

“Goodness, no!” Nickel couldn’t help the laugh. “A formal apology is only to be made to free people. That kind of encouraging Serenity’s ego is not advisable. You apologize to him in your own way, if you need to, it’s between the two of you, but it won’t affect my decision to punish you.”

Taven shuddered in his arms. “You’re gonna beat me this time, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve told you, it isn’t what we do in this house, and I certainly would never beat you, in any case.” Nickel silenced and looked down at Taven’s naked feet, dirty from walking through the dewy grass. “No beatings, Taven, but I think I know what _would_ make you think before you act next time.”


	40. Bad Nights

Nickel picked up a book to read before sleep, but Taven kept shifting and moaning beside him in the bed, distracting him. Finally, he put the book down. “Are you sore?” he asked. 

“I fucking hurt all over,” Taven complained.

Nickel could imagine. The fact Taven apparently liked the feeling of grass between his naked toes, had given him an idea of a suitable punishment. Taven thoughtlessly dirtied the floors with his barefooted walks in the gardens. Well, then he could spend an afternoon cleaning them up. 

Normally, the maids cleaning the floors had access to vacuum cleaners and mops, but Nickel had ordered one of the older maids, Ada, to show Taven how to scrub a suitably sized floor, the old-fashioned way, on your knees, with a brush. Yes, he could very well imagine Taven would ache all over; the boy wouldn’t be used to this kind of work. He should still mind his language.

“That’s no way to speak to your master, boy,” he warned. “Now, watch your tongue, or I’ll send you out to scrub another floor.” 

Taven turned very quiet and still beside him. 

Nickel couldn’t help the smile, it seemed he’d finally found an effective deterrent. “Well, you’re safe for tonight, I suppose. Ada said you did a good job, and weren’t any trouble at all. You like her?”

“I guess she was okay, Master,” Taven murmured.

Nickel nodded, he’d chosen her carefully for the job. Ada was a responsible and hard-working maid. His father hadn’t allowed her to have children of her own, but she seemed to compensate by mothering the younger slaves at the estate whenever she could. Nickel had known she wouldn’t gloat or taunt a punished favorite. 

Well, in spite of Taven’s whining, he didn’t seem to harbor too much resentment toward his master, seeing as he _was_ in his bed. After their talk in the gardens this morning, Taven had finally understood and hadn't question Nickel’s earlier suggestion they share his bed more often. Taven knew now there was no pressure, Nickel thought, and had readily come with him when asked. 

Nickel reached over and patted Taven’s shoulder. “Get a good night’s sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning,” he promised, picking up his book again, searching for the page where he’d left off. 

However, Taven’s newfound stillness and quietness soon proved another kind of distraction. He might not dare to whine anymore, but he didn’t go to sleep either. Nickel could feel the boy’s eyes on him as he tried to read the same sentence again, for the fourth time. He put the book down.

“Did you want to talk about something?” he asked patiently.

“Can I?” Taven asked.

Nickel smiled and turned on his side, facing him. “Of course,” he promised. 

Taven avoided his eyes. “I was thinking a lot, scrubbing,” he started. “You know, about pre… Preffy…”

“Preferences?” Nickel filled in; excited at the possibility Taven would open up to him. 

“Yeah, Master, and it’s like… I don’t really know what I like, and stuff, but… I do kinda know what I _don’t_ like, know what I mean? Can I do that? I mean, can I tell you that?”

“Oh, Taven, of course you can…”

“I know it don’t matter what I don’t like,” Taven interrupted. “I _know_ that. I ain’t saying I’d whine and shit, if- if you wanna do stuff in bed, but- but… You asked, and…”

“I _don’t_ want to do things to you in bed you don’t like,” Nickel assured him. “I told you this morning, and I meant it. You can tell me. In fact, it would be very helpful to me if I knew. I wouldn’t want to accidentally do something to hurt you.”

Taven hesitated still, staring up into the canopy, swallowing repeatedly. Maybe it wasn’t only that he was reluctant to tell his master something personal, but it would probably bring up bad memories, as well. Nickel waited patiently. If it proved too hard for the boy, he wouldn’t persist, but he still hoped... 

“I… I didn’t like it when they, you know… When they beat me,” Taven started. “Or when they pushed their cocks down my throat when I wasn’t prepared, choking me, and- and I don’t much like being tied up either, ‘cause that’s just fucking scary, and the way some did it, it could really hurt, too, and… You don’t need to do that, Master, I’d stay still for you, I promise.”

Nickel already felt uncomfortable, but he’d urged the boy to talk and it wouldn’t be fair stopping him now. 

The boy went on without waiting for a reply, all the time avoiding his eyes. “You know, they did all sort of stuff, like, some wanted to shove used underwear in my mouth, and all kinds of disgusting shit like that, and they called me a lot of shitty things, but Swift… He didn’t let people go too far, you know, ‘cause he didn’t trust them not to kill me, or injure me too bad, or something.” 

Taven gave up a cynical snort. “He didn’t hold them back ‘cause he was being nice, or anything, he just didn’t want to miss out on the money. It didn’t make any fucking sense anyway, ‘cause he was the worst of them all himself, and I thought he was gonna kill me all the time, and… He liked to hurt me when he fucked me, you know, like got off on it. He- he used to fuck me on my back, smoking, and- and when he got close, he burned the insides of my thighs with the cigarette… He always came then, only ‘cause I screamed so fucking much…” 

The room fell dead silent. 

“I… I didn’t much like that,” Taven said, casting insecure glances at him. 

Nickel remained silent only for the simple reason there was absolutely nothing he could say at that moment that wouldn’t be roared in utter outrage and disgust with such lowlife scum as Swift and his ‘customers’. He fought to stay calm, knowing his anger would only scare the boy. He wanted to say something comforting instead, but rarely had he felt so inadequate. What could he say, after all? What words could ever make it better? In the end he could think of nothing else than to ease an arm under Taven’s neck and pull him close to his chest, embracing him. 

Too late, he realized that touching the boy while he still seemed immersed in these painful memories could backfire on him badly, but Taven only melted into his arms, closing his eyes, trembling. 

The moment didn’t last. 

Taven soon started to squirm, as if he had no idea how to react to such a weird thing as someone trying to comfort him. Nickel eased up on the tight embrace, and Taven pulled away a few inches, but still rested on his arm. He turned his head away and looked up into the canopy again. “Master,” he said. “You know, Serenity… His real name is ‘Bobby’.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows at the bizarre change of topic, but then it struck him. Taven really _didn’t_ know how to react. He desperately needed to pretend what he had just said wasn’t a big deal, and they had only been chatting about trivial things. 

This realization didn’t make Nickel feel better, but he gathered himself and played along. “Really?” he said. “I didn’t know that. I’m surprised he told you.”

“Yeah, he didn’t. Not really. I mean, he thought he wasn’t telling me, but he sorta was anyway. Know what I mean?”

Nickel smiled a little. Taven’s words brought no clarity whatsoever into what the two slaves had conversed about. “No, I can’t say I do,” he said.

“Well, but it _is_ his real name,” Taven maintained, his face scrunching up in an annoyed frown. “So, he ain’t as fucking special as he thinks he is.”

Oh, Nickel thought. Something about Serenity had obviously been bothering Taven. “Well, Serenity might be unique in many ways,” he said, “but his name isn’t one of them. The Engel’s have a tradition of naming their slaves much like their horses, that is to say anything else than normal human names. They are _all_ named in a similar fashion over there. It was probably only that Lord Engel had reached the letter ‘S’ in the alphabet the year Serenity was bought. Serenity isn’t more special than you are, Taven. Not to me.”

Taven looked at him in suspicion. “You liked him, Master,” he said.

Nickel didn’t know if it was a question, a statement, or even an accusation. He frowned deeply; he’d told Serenity in no uncertain terms, he was _not_ to tell Taven about their history together. Had Serenity disobeyed him after all? He wouldn’t _dare_. Though it wasn’t strange if Taven had figured things out by himself, Nickel supposed. It would be rather obvious by now that Serenity and he knew each other since before. 

“I did,” he admitted. “But it’s over, and all in the past.”

“Did he…? Did he do something bad?” 

“I suppose you can say that… Look, Taven, you wouldn’t understand. The situation with Serenity was completely different, and it doesn’t have anything at all to do with you, and your situation. What happened between him and I, won’t happen between us.”

The boy didn’t believe him, Nickel thought, but he didn’t push it. Taven made it clear instead, he didn’t want to talk anymore at all, by nuzzling close to him again, and closing his eyes. Nickel reached his free arm out, switched off the nightstand lamp, and closed his eyes as well, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Taven’s words were spinning around in his head, and his hate toward Swift grew and grew. That awful man had destroyed this innocent delicate creature on his arm, and he thought he couldn’t live with himself if he couldn't make Swift pay, somehow. He had to talk to Roth again, and urge him to think the case over once more. There must be another way.

“Master?”

Taven’s whispered word against his chest pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “Yes?” he whispered back.

“I… I did kinda like the kissing.”

Nickel found no words to reply, but his heart soared. It _hadn’t_ all been work only for Taven; after all, he _had_ enjoyed at least something about it.

He pulled Taven closer still, and caressed him over the head. For the moment, Nickel had completely forgotten his hate and anger.

\-----o0o-----

Taven was tired, but he fought to stay awake. He didn’t know how long he could hide things from his master if the man kept insisting he come to his bed only to sleep, instead of just fucking him and sending him back to his room, but trying to get out of these ‘invitations’ didn’t seem like a good idea either.

He pushed the worry aside. It would surely be all right. There hadn’t been any incidents in his own bed either for more than a week now, and he couldn’t remember this ever being the case. Maybe ‘that’ had been cured, as well, along with all the other stuff that had been wrong with him. Maybe ‘that’ would never happen again. 

Besides, he wanted this so badly, being held and comforted. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, there was a small voice warning him it wasn’t a good idea getting this close to a master, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t resist the warmth of Nickel’s body, and these arms holding him in the dark. The caring and safety felt so real, and after the bewilderment of the last few days, it was hard to resist. 

He understood Nickel had meant to explain things to him this morning, which was a very nice thing for a master to do. It made Taven feel bad and ungrateful that he was as sorely confused as ever. He was still trying to figure out what the fuck the man actually wanted when it came to serving in bed, and calling it ‘not work’ and claiming he didn’t care if his slave fucked it up, really didn’t help. 

Okay, it hadn’t all been confusing, many things his master had said he did understand, but the main mystery remained. Taven remembered Serenity’s words. ‘_Give him what he wants_,’ he’d said. ‘_Always give him what he wants_’. If only he knew what the fuck the man actually wanted.

Well, okay, Nickel wanted to fuck him, and he’d liked the blowjob – just not the timing – and he didn’t want things rough, and wasn’t turned on by others’ pain. Coming to a point tonight where he’d dared tell his master how much that kind of roughness scared him, and getting it confirmed, yet again, this wasn’t what the man enjoyed, was such a huge relief. 

Yes, Taven got all that now, and he believed it, too, but there was still something he was obviously missing, something very specific the man wanted sex to be, which he still didn’t understand, because… Well, because he was sure as hell not being fucked, was he? 

After their talk, Nickel had acted as if everything was good now. He’d said they should only spend more time together and things would sort of ‘happen by itself’, or something. Vague shit like that didn’t help him either. The only thing Taven had gotten from their talk was what _wouldn’t_ happen. His master had assured him he wouldn't punish him if he screwed up in bed, which by all means was a relief, but it wasn’t what worried him the most.

It was true his master was an unusually patient man, but if Taven never got this right, then eventually the man _would_ tire of him, and simply exchange him with a slave who would better fill his needs. Nickel was a weird master in many ways, most of them good, but in this aspect he was no different than any other owner. There was a tall, blond and very good-looking living proof of this. If Nickel had discarded someone like Serenity, then how could _he_ ever be safe? No, if he never got this sex-thing right, he could forget about the warmth and safety of this man’s arms. 

Taven shivered, in spite of the warm room and the body beside him. Nickel had claimed his situation was different from Serenity’s, but Taven couldn’t see how. No, nothing had changed, not really. By some miracle, he’d ended up with a man who was the complete opposite of his former master, and Serenity was right, that would never happen to him again. 

He was a stupid fuck and a worthless piece of shit, it was the only reason it had taken him so long to come to this, but Taven’s mission was clear to him now, and it wasn’t enough to behave and not provoke the man only.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel stared at the growing piles of papers on his desk, sighing deeply. Lately it seemed he mostly came to the study to _avoid_ work, but he couldn’t help it; there were just so many other things on his mind.

A little more than a week ago, he’d spent such a good night with Taven, the boy confiding in him, and peacefully falling asleep in his arms. Earlier that same day they’d had an enlightening talk, too, and the boy had understood so many things, including what he’d done wrong, consequently accepting his punishment without protests or resentment. Yes, the progress of their relationship had taken a huge leap forward that day, and Nickel had been thinking it was time to move Taven upstairs. 

It was true, objectively speaking, that the boy still wasn’t a proper attendant and personal slave – he simply wasn’t trained and schooled enough yet – but was it really that awfully important? _He_ enjoyed having the boy around, shouldn’t that count for something? What reason was there to deprive himself of having the slave close by to call to his bed whenever he wished to? There were plenty of vacant rooms upstairs, what would it matter if he gave one of the smaller ones to Taven? 

However, his father might turn up any day now, and he wouldn’t approve, Nickel was certain. 

He frowned in irritation. Nickel talked with his father at least once a week, but the old lord was consistently vague whenever any of them brought up a visit to the mansion. The Head Lord always came home _some_ time during summer, but Nickel could never make him commit to an actual date and time of arrival. If Nickel insisted to know, his father was angry and asked if he now needed permission from his son to visit his own house. 

His father was never this vague about other plans, and would certainly not accept the same kind of evading answers from his son. Nickel could swear his father did it on purpose, though he didn’t know what the Head Lord imagined he would catch his son doing at these surprise arrivals. 

Nickel squirmed a little in the high-backed chair, feeling guilty. Maybe, for example, his father might imagine he’d buy the most inappropriate untrained slave imaginable and insist he was a proper attendant and personal slave worthy of moving upstairs. 

No, seeing things through his father’s eyes, Nickel hadn’t moved up Taven after all, but he was damn well not going to deprive himself of the pleasure of the boy’s company in either case. It might still be too early for full on penetrative sex, but, gods how Nickel had missed another body beside him only. Holding someone close, feeling their warmth, hearing their breathing slow as they fell asleep… Nickel hadn’t realized just how much he had missed such things, since… 

Well, wherever Taven officially stayed, there _was_ no reason he couldn’t sleep in his master’s bed most every night from now on. Nickel had told Taven this, and the boy hadn’t seemed to regard this as bad news, he’d even smiled at him. 

A less patient and compassionate man might have had ample reason to regret this particular decision. 

Nickel shoved the piles aside with his elbows and leaned over the desk, rubbing at his temples. Sleeping in the same room as Taven had unfortunately turned out to be less than ideal, at least if you regularly wanted a full night’s sleep. Already the second night there had been trouble and these nocturnal disturbances was the sole reason for today’s neglected paperwork. 

The first time Nickel noticed something wasn’t quite right, he’d been pulled out of a deep sleep by a loud crash in the middle of the night. Confused and bleary-eyed, he’d bolted up in bed, fumbling in the dark for the lamp switch. The reason for the crash was immediately evident as soon as he’d switched on the lights. Taven was up walking and had tilted over a chair in the darkness. Irritated, Nickel had scolded the boy. If he needed to go to the bathroom, next time he’d better switch the lights on so he could see where he put his feet, but Taven hadn’t replied. The boy had only kept walking aimlessly about the room, completely ignoring his master, as if he didn’t even hear him. 

It hadn’t taken Nickel many seconds to realize Taven really _didn’t_ hear him. He was sleepwalking.

Nickel knew you shouldn’t wake up a sleepwalking person, and so he’d only carefully taken Taven by the shoulders and steered him back to bed, where the boy had obediently lied down and simply slept on as if nothing had happened. 

The next morning Nickel had asked Taven if he was often sleepwalking, but the boy claimed he had no idea what his master was talking about. Nickel had found the incident peculiar, and the coming night he’d made sure to lock both his bedroom door and the windows. He didn’t want Taven stumbling about the mansion in the dark and fall down a flight of stairs, or plunge out an opened window, but after eliminating these risks, he’d thought no more of it. 

Taven sleepwalking now and then, he could handle. It was the sleep _screaming_, which had completely unnerved him. 

Nickel had been brutally startled out of sleep again only a few nights later by a piercing scream that had had him standing beside the bed in less than a second, heart pounding like a jackhammer. When he switched the lights on, this time Taven was sitting up in bed, his eyes wide open, screaming as if someone was repeatedly stabbing him. 

For a few fleeting seconds Nickel had been gripped by an almost superstitious fear at the sight, instinctively wondering what supernatural horrors the boy was able to witness in these old rooms, that he himself couldn’t see. However, it hadn’t taking him long to understand whatever was terrorizing Taven, it was only in his own head. It was some kind of nightmare. 

This time Nickel did try to wake the boy up, shaken by the desperate screaming, but nothing he did seemed to get through to Taven. No matter how Nickel tried to comfort him and assuring him there was nothing there that could hurt him, Taven kept crying, yelling and thrashing his arms around as if he fought an invisible murder of crows pecking at his eyes. 

After what seemed to be an eternity, Taven finally seemed to calm down by himself. He sank back into the pillows, drenched in sweat at the exertion, and simply slept on normally, without ever having woken up. Nickel didn’t think the boy had even once been aware of his presence. 

He couldn’t go back to sleep after that. Nickel had sat in the large armchair under the window for a long time, staring at the now peacefully sleeping Taven, before he’d stilled his wildly beating heart enough to slip back into bed. 

The next morning he’d angrily stomped downstairs and ordered the slaves who slept in the rooms closest to Taven’s, into the study, and yelled at them. Nickel might be excused for not having been aware of these things since Taven hadn’t slept regularly with him until recently, but these episodes had most likely occurred before, and the others must have heard the boy walking about in the middle of the night, bumping into things, or screaming and trashing about. 

They must have noticed, but they had said _nothing_.

Eyes wide at his yelling they had admitted as much when Nickel pressed them about it. However, one of them had then worked up the courage to remind him – badly stammering the words out– how he _had_ ordered them early on to stay away from the boy and leave it to their master to handle the new slave himself. They all excused themselves profusely nevertheless, regretful tears in their eyes, assuring him they hadn’t understood something was wrong with the boy. After all, the new slave had really been in a rather consistently foul mood from the first day, breaking chairs and what not. They’d thought the redhead might only be ‘venting’ and ‘blowing off steam’ in there at night, when he obviously thought no one could hear him. They had told each other it was none of their business, the new pet clearly not being part of the workforce, and had feared punishment if they butted in. 

Nickel didn’t believe they hadn’t understood the noises Taven made weren’t normal. He vividly recalled the terrified screams, and doubted anyone could mistake it for ‘angry venting’. However, they _were_ correct in that he’d ordered them to leave Taven to him, and he couldn’t blame them for taking his words literally, now could he. He’d sent them out unpunished, but with strict instructions to keep him informed in the future. 

Nickel sighed again, rubbing at his temples, surrounded by his neglected paperwork. Yelling at the slaves didn’t help him figure out what he should do. What was wrong with Taven? Why did he have these worrying episodes? Was his earlier harsh life the cause, and in that case, would they eventually cease? Nickel had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Having his sleep ruined every other night for years to come simply wasn’t a thought he could live with, no matter how much he enjoyed having the boy in his bed. 

If his sleep was all he worried about, though, the solution was simple enough; he only had to send Taven back to his room, for good. However, the thought of Taven enduring these awful episodes all alone down there, no one he trusted close by to keep him from hurting himself or comfort him in case he woke up still trapped in terror, sat equally unwell with Nickel. 

No, he didn’t have the heart to push Taven out of his bed. Surely, if he kept offering the boy the safety of sleeping with him, eventually the sleepwalking and the screaming and fighting against invisible threats, would stop. He had to believe they would.

\-----o0o-----

A few days later, in the afternoon, Nickel had taken Taven to the tattoo removal specialist for a scheduled appointment. He had brought the bit, but never had to take it out of its case. Taven had behaved, exemplary even. Maybe it was because the man with the laser was an actual tattoo artist, and there was little in his studio that reminded of a medical facility, or maybe it was because Taven had already been to two earlier sessions and started to get used to it.

Behaving or not, Nickel knew these sessions _were_ hard on the boy. Not mainly because of the pain – Taven claimed it was ‘nothing’ – but maybe mostly for how humiliating it was, having to openly show his shameful mark. It had helped how the tattoo artist hadn’t as much as batted an eyelid seeing the tattoo at their first appointment. He’d been in the business a long time, he’d informed Nickel with a laconic expression, and claimed that by now he’d seen everything, twice over. 

Nickel wished he could have been of similar support, but he feared he might only make things worse for Taven in this aspect. He had a hard time even looking at the horrid mark, and his discomfort obviously didn’t escape the boy. He’d been quiet and drawn back in the car all the way home.

Later that night Taven came to bed as usual, but he didn’t want to talk, or lie close. The boy turned his back on him as soon as they slipped under the covers and pretended to sleep. Nickel didn’t insist on either chats or embraces, though the slave’s rebuff did sting. He shouldn’t take it personally, Nickel told himself. The appointment must have brought up bad memories and the boy only wanted some space.

Nickel switched off the lights and turned to sleep. Apart from another dazed walkabout through his bedroom just the other night, things had been peaceful enough since the worrying screaming nightmare episode, and Nickel really hoped the poor boy would have a good night’s sleep. 

They both needed it.

\-----o0o-----

Hours later, Nickel blinked himself awake at an annoying ray of sun in his face, peeking through a slit in the closed blinds. He turned on his side to avoid it and realized he’d kicked off his cover some time during the night. His room was often warm and clammy in summer, even more so when he had to keep the windows closed and locked, and it wasn’t uncommon that he did kick it off and found it on the floor in the morning. With or without covers it must have been an unusually hot night, though, Nickel thought wearily, still only half awake and with every intention of going back to sleep, because his pajama pants felt positively drenched in sweat...

Nickel reached a hand down, increasingly aware of the weird sensation, and felt at his pants. The side of his right leg was soaking wet, the fabric plastered to his skin. He sat up and looked down at himself. What on earth was this? How could he be this wet? Automatically he looked up into the canopy. Had the ceiling sprung leak? No, it wasn’t possible. There was another floor between his and the outer roof, there were no bathrooms up there and no pipes running inside his ceiling, as far as he was aware. Besides, the canopy was as dry and dusty as always. Whatever had soaked his leg, it couldn’t have come from above. 

He only had to turn his head in Taven’s direction, and the mystery was solved. The boy had kicked off his cover, too, and his crotch was as soaking wet as the side of Nickel’s leg, and the sheets underneath them. 

Nickel stared at the hand he’d just used to pull at his wet pants and instinctively put his fingers to his nose, at once picking up the distinct smell. It wasn’t water; it was urine. 

Good God, Taven had _peed_ on them. 

For the longest time, Nickel simply sat there, staring at his hand, at a complete loss of how to react, but then he forced himself to snap out of it. They simply couldn’t stay in this mess; he had to wake up Taven. Shuddering, Nickel shifted on the cold, wet stain, and carefully put his dry hand on Taven’s shoulder. He really tried his best to school his face into a reassuring smile as he saw the boy’s eyelids flutter, but his expression must have come across as anything but. Taven returned his strained smile with a confused and worried look, and then he felt it, too.

The reaction was immediate. 

Taven turned a deep red, scrambled out of the bed and made a run for the door. He didn’t get far. As usual, Nickel had locked it. Being bereaved an escape route Taven seemed to lose it completely. He screamed and yelled, kicking and banging on the door, tugging violently at the handle, until he abruptly gave it up and sank to the floor where he stood. He curled in on himself and burst out sobbing like a small child. 

Nickel was soon at his side, crouching down and cautiously putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Taven, I’m not…”

“Go away!” Taven screamed, shaking his hand off, heaving sobs racking his whole body. “Don’t touch me! I’m fucking _disgusting_.”

“No!” Nickel assured him, not leaving the boy’s side. “Of course you’re not. This… This isn’t your fault. I mean, you couldn’t help it, and… Damn,” he cursed. What the hell _did_ you say to someone who’d just peed on you? 

“I’m not angry,” he tried. 

He didn’t get through to the boy; that was clear. Taven curled in on himself further, hid his head under his arms and cried as miserably as before. Nickel couldn’t say he didn’t understand him. If he’d done a similar thing, he would of course have been mortified, as well. 

Nickel got back on his feet and stepped away. A sort of desperation came over him. There was just one thing after another, in a seemingly endless stream of problems. Would it ever stop? For the first time, he genuinely and deeply regretted ever having taken the boy in, but he didn’t allow himself to stay in this feeling. He _had_ taken this boy in, and there was no going back.

He simply had to deal with this, too. 

Taking a deep breath Nickel crouched down at Taven’s side again. “Taven, listen to me. I understand this is embarrassing for you, but things are already as awkward as they are likely to ever get, so calm down and sit up and talk with me. I told you, I’m not angry.”

Taven still refused to as much as look up at him, but his wailing did abate somewhat. “I wanna die,” he wept. “Why can’t I just _die_?” 

“Oh, for goodness sake, boy, it really isn’t that bad.” 

“I _peed_ on you, Master,” Taven hissed in protest. “You gotta flog me real bad for that. You _gotta_!”

Nickel shook his head in sadness. “Do you really think it would make anything better if I beat you? That’s not going to happen, boy. I won’t punish you for something you weren’t even aware of doing. What kind of monster would I be?” Again, he put a hand on Taven’s shoulder, and this time the boy accepted his touch and let himself be coaxed into sitting up beside him. 

Nickel put an arm around his shoulders. “Has this happened before?” he asked.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Taven cried, his shoulders trembling.

“I understand that, boy, I do, but I need you to answer me. Now, has it?”

Taven sniffed and shook, avoiding his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered; shame evident in his whole being. “But- but it hasn’t for weeks and I thought it’d stopped ‘cause it never went away that long before. I swear, Master, I thought it had fucking stopped ‘cause it used to happen a lot, and- and… I thought I wouldn’t do it no more. I’m sorry,” he wept.

“It’s all right,” Nickel assured him. “I told you, I’m not angry. I only want to understand this. How far back has this been going on?”

“Always,” Taven sobbed, wiping at his nose with a shaking hand. “Fucking _always_.”

Nickel was stunned. Taven had wet the bed here from the first day. How could he have done so without anyone knowing? Surely, the laundry slaves would have noticed urine soaked sheets and told their master. The maids would also have… Oh. Now Nickel understood why Taven had insisted on cleaning his own room early on. Of course, there had been no maids in his room since. “What did you do with the sheets?” he wanted to know. 

Taven swallowed his sobs and turned silent, hanging his head. 

“Taven?” Nickel persisted.

“I threw them away, okay?” Taven yelled. “I threw all the sheets away. I pushed them deep into the trash so no one would see them in the bins. They’re gone, I’m sorry. I washed them in the bathtub with the soap, but it just wouldn’t work any good in the end, and… There’s like a million fucking sheets in the cupboards downstairs, it’s not as if anyone ever noticed I sneaked in to get new ones. I didn’t mean to steal them, Master, I swear.”

Nickel shook his head. It was true the supply storage downstairs contained a big enough amount of coarse linen that no one _would_ probably notice for a rather long time. However, eventually the laundry slaves would have wondered where all the sheets went, and he suspected they already wondered why the new slave regularly left his used clothes in the laundry, but didn’t seem to care about how dirty his bed linen got. They _must_ have noticed Taven never leaving them any. 

“It’s all right, boy. I understand you were desperate and didn’t know what to do. I’m not going to punish you for the sheets, but you can’t keep doing that now, you understand?”

The boy sniveled and nodded. 

“Taven, if this has been going on for a longer time… Did they know about this at the slave market?”

“Of course they knew,” Taven sneered through his tears. “Everybody fucking knew. The guards yelled at me so loud half the fucking city could hear it, and that shithead of a trader took my bunk bed away. The other boys all thought I was fucking disgusting and wouldn’t go near me, and- and you would’ve fucking _never_ bought me either if they’d told you.”

Taven burst out sobbing hard again, and hid his head under his arms. 

If someone had forced Nickel to answer this truthfully he wasn’t sure he would have been able to, but there was no way he would show this uncertainty to Taven. If ever there was a need for a white lie... “That’s not true, Taven, not at _all_,” he said. “I wouldn’t have left you there, of course I wouldn’t.” He didn’t know if the boy believed him, Taven still refused to look at him. 

“Did they beat you for this?” he asked instead. He remembered how he’d cleaned Taven’s swollen face from the smeared nosebleed. 

“What did they fucking _not_ beat me for?” Taven murmured bitterly. “They weren’t half as mean as Swift anyway.”

Nickel turned cold. “What did he do?” he asked gravely.

The boy finally looked up at him, tears streaming. “I had a mattress,” he said. “When Swift bought me, he gave me a mattress, but the first time I- I… I slept naked on the bathroom floor for years, Master, so he could just hose me off, and ‘cause he said I didn’t deserve anything. No- no clothes or mattress, or anything, ‘cause I just peed on it, I didn’t deserve it. It was always cold, Master, always so damn fucking cold. The floor was cold, and the water was cold, and I was almost never allowed anywhere it was warm, ‘cause I was just too fucking disgusting...” 

Taven collapsed into his arms. “He fucking beat me all the time for that,” he wept. “He beat me so fucking bad I thought I was gonna die, and he rubbed my face in it and- and had me lick it up, but I just couldn’t stop it. I tried, Master, I _tried_, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it. He told people how fucking disgusting I was, and if they paid they could pee on me, ‘cause I was just used to it anyway… They- they peed on me, Master… They _peed_ on me…”

Nickel held Taven close, slowly rocking him as he wept. He felt nauseated only hearing about such abject cruelty. It was almost too painful to deal with, but, deal he would. “It’s all right, Taven,” he said, caressing the boy’s back and head. “He was _wrong_, you didn’t deserve _any_ of that, and believe you me, when I get hold of that _fucking bastard_, I’ll make him regret he was ever born for what he did to you.”


	41. The Human Rights Activists Diversion

Nickel had comforted Taven as best he could; assuring him things wasn’t as bad as the slave obviously feared, then, to keep them both from despairing, he’d forced them to deal with the practical matters. 

He’d gotten Taven into the shower with him and then he’d lent the boy an old pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt before sending him back to his room. He’d told Taven not to worry, to go eat breakfast before classes as usual, and that he would take care of everything. 

Taven had finally gotten himself together – though he’d hardly looked less miserable – and had left, hugging himself, head hanging. Nickel wasted no time. As soon as the boy closed the door behind him, he went about hiding the evidence.

He got a garbage bag from his bathroom, and gathered the stained sheets and their wet pajamas, pushing it all down the bag and knotting it tightly. Then he dabbed the mattress with a soap-soaked bath sponge, trying to clean up the worst of it, and put a towel over the stain to pull up the moist 

Nickel’s bed linen was stored in large cupboards at the end of the hallway outside his bedroom. He rarely, if ever, opened those cupboards, but he hurriedly went through them now, knowing he didn’t have much time before Eve would silently climb the stairs up to the master’s quarters. The unassuming maid’s habits were thoroughly formed around his own, and unless he told her he wanted to sleep in, or had company, she always stood outside his door at eight o’clock, sharp.

He hurried back to his bedroom with a clean set of sheets, and made the bed. 

Taking a step back to examine his handiwork, he had to smirk at himself. It sure showed he wasn’t used to making his own bed. The messy uneven and crumpled result looked nothing like the flawlessly neat and smooth bed Eve made every morning. However, for what Nickel had in mind, his inability to perform such a simple task was exactly what he needed. 

Finishing the messy bed, Nickel grabbed the garbage bag, and the light summer jacket he’d picked out earlier, draping it over his arm, hiding the bag. The only thing he had to do now was to wait for Eve. 

The small mousy woman entered his bedroom only minutes later, bowing deeply to him, and wishing him a good morning. Nickel smiled at her, concentrating on simply playing the part of himself, pretending he’d just been on his way out, but remaining to chat with her. 

It was something he graciously stooped to do now and then anyway. Eve wasn’t his personal slave, she served his rooms, not him, and he could easily have gotten away with not noticing the unremarkable creature a single day of his life, but it didn’t cost him anything either to acknowledge her soft-voiced morning greetings, and mentioning something about the weather, or the like. 

He had no idea how the middle-aged maid perceived these brief ‘conversations’. She never lifted her eyes to him, and only nodded and hummed in agreement at anything he might say. He had often wondered if there was anything at all behind those constantly lowered eyes, but she cleaned and tidied his rooms as expertly as he could demand, so he supposed her mind couldn’t be entirely vacant.

“Thought I’d take a walk in the gardens,” he said, expecting no spoken answers as usual. “Looks like rain, doesn’t it? I’d better bring a jacket.”

Eve bowed her shorthaired head that was the same gray color as her maid’s uniform, and nodded. 

“Oh,” Nickel casually added, as if he’d only just thought of it. “I had Taven make the bed this morning. The boy really could do with performing at least some useful work in this house, don’t you think? I know, it looks horrible, and I fear he could probably never learn to do it as well as you can, but… I thought we should let him have this one thing, you understand. It’ll be his chore from now on, and don’t do it over for him, let him learn on his own.” 

Nickel was amused to see an unusual reaction, as there was a brief look of horror on her face seeing the lumpy mess the redheaded boy had allegedly turned the bed into, and which apparently would count as ‘made’ from now on, but the expression was gone in the next second. Eve only bowed and managed an almost inaudible ‘yes, master’. 

When Nickel left the room, he knew without a doubt Eve wouldn’t go near his bed again, not until he outright told her the job was back in her capable hands. For now, Taven’s secret would be safe. 

On his way out to the gardens, Nickel followed Taven’s strategy and made sure no one saw him push the bag with the sheets and pajamas deep into the nearest garbage bin.

He did feel somewhat foolish sneaking about in his own home like this, afraid of the slaves spotting him, but it was all for Taven. The poor boy didn’t need the humiliation of the whole house knowing, too.

\-----o0o-----

Later, in the classroom, Nickel was careful with what kind of assignments he gave Taven. He didn’t think the slave’s self-esteem could handle a single failed math problem this particular morning, and handed him an easy-to-read book he’d finished already weeks ago.

Taven seemed only too eager to do something where he didn’t have to either look at, or talk to, his master, and readily agreed to ‘practice his reading’. While the boy immersed himself in fairy tales, Nickel switched on the computer. 

He had some research to do.

The more Nickel learned, the angrier he got. According to the medical sites he looked up bedwetting wasn’t uncommon in younger children, but it was considerably rarer in a person of Taven’s age. As far as he could tell, there was also not a single cause for it. It could be a developmental delay, or have a physical cause. Nickel supposed he couldn’t rule this out and he would contact Dr. Cordeaux about an appointment as soon as possible, but in this case, he was positive he knew what the actual cause was. Abuse. 

If the information he found was vague on how you could establish a definite cause and how to treat these problems successfully, they were considerably clearer about what _wouldn’t_ help. Treating children so inflicted with taunts, anger and punishment would only make things worse.

Nickel was fuming inside as he switched the computer off, struggling not to show Taven how angry he was. Swift was the one who’d caused Taven wetting the bed in the first place, and then he’d cruelly punished the boy for his own failings, constantly worsening the problem. While they showered Taven had filled him in on more details, and apart from his appalling methods, trying to make the boy stop wetting himself, Nickel had learned how Swift had dealt with the sleepwalking and night terrors by simply chaining Taven to the pipes and gagging him. 

He couldn’t even imagine the escalating vicious circles of terror the poor boy had been trapped in, but damn if he would just sit back and do nothing about it.

Nickel ended the lessons early to call Roth and ask him out to the mansion.

\-----o0o-----

Already on the phone, Roth had noticed the shaky voice underlining his boss’ attempt to sound normal, asking him out to the mansion. Stepping into the study now, Roth only needed one look at his friend to confirm this observation. Nickel was clearly upset about something.

“So… what’s up?” he asked cautiously, following Nickel’s pacing across the floor with his eyes, closing the door behind him. 

“Swift is,” Nickel answered, almost spitting the man’s name out. “We have to do something about that horrible monster, Roth, we _have_ to!”

Oh, Roth thought, he’d suspected something like this. “I know, Nickel, but the situation isn’t any different from before. I haven’t found anything on him, and following him won’t work anymore. I’ll let you know if there’s a change, but…”

“All right,” Nickel interrupted. “Fine! If you don’t want to do anything about it, _I_ will. You have his address, right? Tell me where he lives, and I’ll go there and…”

“And what?” Roth interrupted in his turn. “You’re planning on informing him what a bad boy he’s been, ordering him to ‘say sorry’ and make him promise to do better? Think, Nickel! A guy like that won’t care about anything you have to say.” 

Nickel gave him a more than annoyed frown and opened his mouth to argue, but he obviously didn’t have a reply, and remained silent. It was equally obvious he hadn’t thought this over at all. 

What had the redhead told him now that had worked his master up like this? 

“Oh, just give me his damn address,” Nickel finally sputtered. “I don’t care if he wants to talk to me, or not. I’ve had enough. I can’t stand just sitting back here while nothing is being done. I’ll have an end to this, one way or the other, and if you won’t give me his address, I’ll look it up myself. I _will_ go down there, and I’ll go _now_.”

Roth stared. What the fuck, Nickel was actually serious? Well, there was no way in hell he was going to agree to that. He backed up against the door, drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh no,” he said. “You’ll do no such thing!” 

Nickel completely lost his temper. “What?” he roared, shaking his fist at him. “You- you can’t tell me what to do. Get out of my _fucking_ way!”

In spite of being about twice as big as his boss, Roth would have instinctively backed away at this unexpected burst of aristocratic fury, hadn’t he had a door already in his back. However, he gathered himself quickly. Like hell he would back down, and no matter what Nickel’s problem was, he wasn’t going to lose his cool. 

“Oh yes,” he argued, as calm and steadfast as he was able, not moving an inch. “I most certainly can tell you what to do, _boss_. The clan pays me a fucking fortune to do just that. It’s my damn job to tell you what to do when it comes to security matters, and don’t you even try to pretend this isn’t a matter of security. If you want to fire me, though, then by all means do, it’s your right, and then you can pull any idiotic, hotheaded stunt you like. Just remember, Nickel, whether I’m your bodyguard or not, I _am_ your friend, and I’d rather not see you fucking beaten half to death by some psycho South End thug, so please calm down and listen to some professional advice. Do _not_ go near Swift!”

Hearing this, it only took seconds for his boss’ expression to change from white-hot anger to regret. Nickel sank down on a chair along the wall and leaned over to tangle his hands in his hair. “Oh, God, Roth, I apologize,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’d never fire you. I understand you’re only concerned, and… It’s just this whole thing is so damn stressful. You don’t know what it’s like, dealing with this mess, having to witness every day how damaged he is, how he’s hurting. Hearing what he tells me… It just eats at me how Swift simply got away with it, and I can’t do a damn thing.” 

“It’s all right,” Roth said. “I understand.” He supposed he would have felt the same and he had no problems accepting the apology. “Look, it’s not that I’ve given up. I’ll keep looking, I will, but you have to have patience with stuff like this. I get it though, I do. It’s frustrating to sit around only, and… You know, Nickel, there _are_ actually things you can do. I’ve been thinking, and I have some stuff in the car I’ve been meaning to show you. Just give me a moment, I’ll go get it.”

Roth quickly excused himself before Nickel had a chance to ask anything, and slipped out the door. He retrieved a small paper bag from the backseat of his car and walked back to the house, wondering all the way if what he was about to do really was that overly smart. The contents of this paper bag went against practically everything Nickel stood for as a clan lord, and there was a serious risk Roth would deeply offend his boss with the suggestion he had in mind. 

Well, no harm in trying. He hoped.

Back in the study, Nickel was still sitting on the same chair along the wall, and Roth was irrationally relieved he hadn’t retreated to the imposing ‘leather chair and huge desk’-combo. He grabbed the chair next over, pulled it out from the wall, turned it around to face Nickel, straddled it and simply handed the bag over.

Nickel received it and curiously peeked inside. He pulled out the bunch of flyers and brochures Roth knew was in there with a bewildered look. “What’s this?” he said, flipping through them. 

Roth braced himself. Here goes nothing, he thought. “People from these human rights activists groups are hanging out at the parking lot outside the mall every weekend,” he explained. “They hand this stuff out.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows. “Activists?”

“Anti slavery organizations,” Roth clarified. He couldn’t spell it out clearer than that.

Roth held his breath. If Nickel didn’t immediately get up from the chair in anger to push the whole bunch into the waste paper basket, then maybe, just maybe, he would actually listen.

Nickel leafed through the bunch again, stopping now and then, seemingly to read the catchphrases on the covers. “Anti slavery?” he huffed. “Looks like anti _clan_ to me.” He looked up and accusingly held the bunch out to him. “What _is_ this? Are they some sort of terrorist groups? I don’t understand. Is this supposed to help?”

Roth took the bunch back. Nickel did sound offended, but he hadn’t stormed out of the room yet, so... “Listen, Nickel, I’ve done the research, and yeah, you’re not all wrong. Some organizations _are_ terrorists, or at least cover for terrorists. Those people don’t care about slaves, they’re only out to get at the clans, any way they can, and as the clans are the major slave owners, fronting as an anti slavery group is just a means to that end, but… That isn’t true for all groups.”

Nickel only gave him a highly suspicious look.

“Believe me, I’ve looked into this. The ones I’ve selected for you here have no known terrorist connections. They really do care about the wellbeing of slaves. They want an end to slavery, not to bring down the clans.”

Nickel frowned. “What are you saying?” he asked. “That you think I should free Taven? I can’t do such a thing. The authorities would never approve. Besides, he wouldn’t make it on his own. He isn’t capable of… He _needs_ me.”

Roth repressed a sigh. Nickel was fixated on Taven, and didn’t see the big picture. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he said. “The groups I chose aren’t revolutionary. Yes, their ultimate goal _is_ the complete abolishment of slavery, eventually, but they have accepted it’s a long-term goal they’ve temporarily put aside. As it is, they’re putting their time and resources only into raising awareness and propagating for laws regulating protection for slaves. No one wants to take Taven away from you, Nickel. They only want a decent abuse prevention act.”

Nickel didn’t let up on his suspicious glares and frowns. “Well, they sure seem to accuse the clans of all sorts of horrors. I don’t mistreat my slaves.”

He did sigh this time. “I know you don’t, that’s not what I’m saying either. Yes, there _is_ a lot of criticism directed at the clans in these brochures, but they aren’t out to get at you personally, they’re only saying the majority of the slave owners _are_ clan, and how if there’s ever to be a change, you have to lead the way.” 

Roth flipped through the bunch for a particular flyer and shoved it under Nickel’s nose. “Look; here’s a list of what they want covered under this act. They just want a few basic rights for slaves, and a means for the authorities to stop people from committing the worst kind of atrocities, that’s all. Yeah, you read these brochures and you’ll probably be somewhat offended, at first. They do go after the clans rather harshly, and they want you to think about things, you know. Like this…” 

Again, Roth looked for a certain brochure and soon found the passage he’d marked out earlier, circling the whole thing with a ballpoint pen. “’The utter normalization of the constitution of slavery in our nation’,” he started, reading aloud from the page. “’…has instilled in most people the notion there is such a thing as ‘good slavery’ and ‘bad slavery’. There isn’t. No matter how well you treat a person in your power, owning them at all lends justification to those who treat theirs cruelly and inhumanely’. Yeah, it says a lot of stuff like that,” Roth ended, wondering if he should have chosen a less radical quote. He’d circled several. 

Nickel stared at him, dead quiet.

“Well, the point is, even if you might disagree about their basic view of it, you do want the same things.”

Again, that highly suspicious look.

“You do, look at their list! No arbitrary physical punishments, no working them around the clock, no starving them, no sexually abusing kids under fifteen, no parting kids from their mothers, fines for permanent injuries… I know; I know… _You_ don’t do any of these things, and would never dream of doing it either, but that’s the actual problem. The clans have resisted abuse prevention laws for decades, claiming it is offensive to imply they couldn’t regulate stuff themselves, but you know as well as I do there are a lot of people out there, clan and otherwise, who aren’t as decent as you are. It isn’t realistic to think people like Swift would ‘self-regulate’ their damn sadistic urges, and just imagine how much easier it would have been for us to get at Swift now if there had already been a law like this in place.”

Roth paused for effect. “Yeah, you and _these_ particular groups, Nickel, you want the same things, believe me.” He offered him the brochures again.

Finally, Nickel’s expression softened and he nodded slowly. “I see,” he said. He took the bunch of brochures back and looked them over more closely. “I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” he said. “I’m not into politics, you know that. These groups would need to convince people like Constantine Engel about their cause, not me. His health hasn’t been very good, but he was politically active up until only a few years ago, and he’s still very well connected and quite powerful, but me… _I_ don’t have that kind of influence.”

“It would have been great if you did,” Roth admitted. “But you can still do a lot of good. Support these groups!”

Nickel squirmed on the chair, obviously very uncomfortable with this suggestion. “I can’t be a member of a group like this,” he said. “How would that look?”

Roth only just managed not to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to be a member. I’m not suggesting you become an activist, or anything, but you can still support them. Give them money, anonymously if you prefer, it would go a long way. They don’t exactly have endless resources, but the clan sure seems to.” 

He took a deep breath. “You’re hung up on Taven, Nickel, ‘cause you sort of have a thing for the redhead, but even if you manage to heal that kid, and even if you eventually manage to kick Swift’s ass, then that’s just one kid, and only one sadistic bastard. If you don’t even try to do something about the underlying problem, too, well, then no matter what you do for the kid, you’re still part of his problem. Know what I mean? Check up on these groups yourself, choose one you don’t hate, and… Make a donation! Maybe slip a few of these brochures into the Engel Mansion’s mailbox, too, if you don’t think it’ll shock the old man into a premature death, or something.” He grinned.

Finally, there was a tentative smile on Nickel’s face at the crude joke, but then he frowned again. “What do you mean ‘I have a thing for Taven’?” he said. 

Roth grinned widely now, reaching over the back of the chair to playfully box Nickel in the upper arm. “You do so have a thing for the redhead, Nickel. You think I haven’t noticed. Damn, there are actual _stars_ in your eyes when you look at him.”

“What the…” Nickel indignantly protested. “There are not.”

Roth only laughed. “Hey, come on, it’s me, don’t deny it.”

Nickel refrained from either denying or confirming, but he smiled sheepishly, and even blushed a little. It was answer enough.

\-----o0o-----

After Roth left, Nickel gave the bunch of flyers and brochures a final thoughtful look before shoving them into a desk drawer. He would look at them more closely later, he really would, but for now, he wasn’t able to digest all his friend had told him. It was easier to push it all aside, and attend to other more pressing matters.

He went down to Taven’s room.

As so many times before the boy was sitting on his bed pressed into the corner when Nickel stepped inside, hugging his knees. A sign he was either on the defensive, or depressed. 

“Taven,” he started. “We need to talk about what happened this morning.”

The slave didn’t look less worried, or less depressed, at this announcement. “Do we have to, Master,” he pleaded.

Nickel nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid we really do have to. We can’t pretend it doesn’t happen. Let me see your bed.”

Taven defiantly stayed where he was, but soon gave up as Nickel kept staring at him with demanding eyes. Miserable, the boy dragged himself off the bed and turned his back on him, leaning against the wall with hunched shoulders. 

Nickel let him be, to pull cover, pillows and sheets off the bed, laying the mattress bare. There was stain upon stain, upon stain…

Dismayed, Nickel shook his head at the sight. “You can’t sleep on this,” he said. “It’s completely ruined.”

“…‘m sorry,” Taven murmured without turning to him, shame evident in his voice.

“It’s only a mattress,” Nickel said, trying to sound encouraging. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I destroyed yours too, Master,” Taven reminded him. 

“Well, um… Yes, but… It’s old; I’ve been meaning to buy a new one anyway. Tomorrow morning I’ll order two new ones, first thing, and for tonight… Mine is such a large mattress; there’s enough space we don’t have to sleep on the stain.”

“No use in buying one for me,” Taven muttered. “I’ll just destroy that too, ‘cause this shit is never gonna fucking stop, and I _know_ you ain’t gonna keep buying new mattresses for me, like, every fucking week, and… Please don’t take the bed away, Master. I don’t care about the stains; I can sleep on that. It’s still better than the floor.”

Nickel gave up a sad sigh. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, and I’m not letting you sleep on a urine-stained mattress either.” He stepped up and put his hands on Taven’s shoulders, gently making him turn around. “You don’t have to worry about any future mattresses. I checked things up, earlier, while you were reading, and there are ways to protect them. You can buy special sheets made of rubber. They’re meant to be put on top the mattress but under the regular sheets. If it happens again, all we have to do is wash the sheets, but the urine will no longer soak through to the mattress. See? It doesn’t matter if you do it again, and that it happens at all is unfortunate, but it doesn’t make it your fault, and it doesn’t make you either filthy or disgusting. Do you understand?” 

Taven was still hanging his head, and seemed neither comforted nor less ashamed. “They’re gonna know,” he said, fighting his tears. “The whole house is gonna know. Eve’s seen your bed now, and the slaves in the laundry’s gonna see all the stained sheets ‘cause you’re not gonna let me throw them away anymore, and… They’ll all laugh at me and call me things, and no one’s ever gonna shut up about how fucking disgusting I am for fucking _forever_.”

“I will _not_ allow them to,” Nickel said sharply.

“Like you can stop them,” Taven said. “Like they can’t look at me funny and talk shit about me when you don’t hear. Like you can stop them from _thinking_ I’m fucking retarded.”

Nickel meant to chide Taven for his manners, but he feared the boy was right. He couldn’t stop them from bullying Taven behind his back, not all hours of the day, and he couldn’t stop them from thinking things about him. 

“Maybe not,” he admitted, “but it’s a moot point in any case, because no one knows, and no one will know. Eve _didn’t_ see what happened to my bed this morning. I changed and made the bed myself and told her you did it. I’ve explained to her, from now on, this is your new job. I’ll order rubber sheets for both our beds and then you simply have to learn how to use the washing machine, and wash our sheets regularly yourself. That way the laundry slaves won’t know either. None of the house slaves will think anything else than that I’ve given you a small area of responsibility, where you have to do some real work. It’s not a bad idea in itself, Taven. It might do you some good. 

“As for the old mattresses, I’ll have the new ones delivered, while paying the deliverymen extra to take the old ones with them, no questions asked. As far as anybody will know, I’ve just decided to treat myself, _and_ my favorite, with some new and more comfortable mattresses. I already spoil you with nice clothes, they won’t find it strange.”

Taven looked confused. “I’m gonna wash _your_ sheets too, Master?” he asked, as if he hadn’t understood the implication of his master’s visit until now. “You’re gonna buy rubber sheets for your bed, too?”

Nickel nodded.

“I’m gonna still sleep in your bed? Why?”

“Well, wasn’t it what we decided? You were supposed to sleep in my bed, so we’d be more comfortable with each other, remember?”

“Yeah, but… But, Master, that was before, when you didn’t know that…”

“Nothing has changed,” Nickel assured him. “_Nothing_, you hear? We only have to figure out the best practical solutions to these… obstacles, that’s all.” 

Taven stared at him in utter wonder. “You’re such a fucking _weird_ master,” he blurted out, obviously not able to keep this spontaneous reaction inside. 

Nickel only smiled.


	42. The Yellow Tulips

Downtown, Roth bought a coffee to go and strolled into the city park, locating a corner with a decently clean park bench and not too many people about. 

When he’d left the mansion earlier, Nickel had still been leafing through those brochures and flyers. It looked like his plan had worked, and he’d given his boss enough to think about not to focus on Swift to his own detriment. He preferred not considering what other cans of worms he might have opened in the process. Nickel seemed confused enough as it was.

His boss behaved as if he couldn’t decide if he was the slave’s master, his lover, or his father, Roth thought. It was as if he tried being all three at the same time, while not really succeeding with any. Well, that kind of confusion wasn’t something Roth thought he could help with. Nickel had to sort out that stuff on his own.

Nickel had been right about one thing, though. Roth had let the case go lately. When Swift had caught him following him, Roth had run into a wall, without immediately knowing how to proceed, and then other stuff had turned up. Since Nickel seemed to prefer to stay in with the redhead these days, Roth had accepted a few temporary job offers from other parties and he’d simply been busy. 

Well, it wouldn’t do, he had to get back on the case. There was that other kid, as well, after all. 

Busy or not, there’d been this persistent half-thought at the back of his mind. Something didn’t feel right, but he hadn’t been able to put a finger on it. Sitting down now, sipping his coffee in a peaceful corner of the city park, Roth thought he might be on to what had bothered him for so long.

Nickel wasn’t the only one who’d been too fixated on Swift. He shouldn’t have focused only on Swift either; he should have focused on Taven, too. 

Because, the way Nickel had acquired the redheaded slave was somewhat strange, wasn’t it? 

Roth had grown up knowing very little of acquiring slaves, or anything concerning slave holding for that matter. He was born into an ordinary working class home. His father, who’d died in a work-related accident when Roth was twenty-four, had been a truck driver, and his mother, still alive and well, but retired, had worked in a sewing factory. His parents had worked hard to pay the rent and put food on the table, and his sister and he hadn’t been starving, but it had sure has hell not been a rich home. A few little gifts each for Christmas and birthdays, and hand me down clothes from their older cousins was more like it.

Families like his weren’t slave owners. 

Roth remembered how his mother had sometimes joked while struggling with the household chores after a long day at work. She would take all their savings and buy herself a slave to do it for her, she’d laughed. It had of course never been a feasible option. Slaves weren’t a practical solution for an exhausted working class mom; they were toys for the well off. Just like the pony that his sister had wished for, for every birthday and Christmas, and never got either. 

Growing up, Roth had no idea what his parents’ views of slavery had actually been. If he would venture a guess, he’d say they never gave it much thought, and were probably neither for nor against. That had pretty much been his own stance on the matter for most of his life, after all. Neither for, nor against, wasn’t his problem, didn’t relate to him.

How owning a slave would affect his morals used to be a moot point; he hadn’t been able to afford one. For a low-income citizen to afford keeping a slave you’d have to go the ‘Swift route’, that is to say, buy an already damaged one cheap and then half-starve them while renting their bodies out on a regular basis. No matter how apathetic Roth had been about the institution of slavery, he would never have been able to stomach that.

The thing was, now he could afford one. Still living in his small cheap South End apartment and driving an old ratty car, while Nickel’s clan paid him way more money each month than he ever spent, with plenty of job offers at the side, meant he was on his way to saving up to a small fortune. Yeah, he could have moved to a better part of the city now and buy himself a nice woman with a well-rounded derriere to take care of him. It wasn’t as if Nickel hadn’t regularly urged him to do just that. 

What stopped him? Roth wasn’t sure. Up until recently, it was probably only that he was so firmly set in his old ways. He’d always lived in the South End, and things were good enough for him. He didn’t need someone waiting on him hand and foot. It would only make him uncomfortable. He could put his own pants on in the morning, thank you very much. However, by now, Roth had read all those brochures and flyers, too, and there’d been some compelling moral arguments against. 

Maybe he wasn’t entirely apathetic anymore. 

Well, Roth pushed all moral quandaries aside, today they weren’t important, and his possible awakening conscience in the matter wasn’t why he’d sought out a quiet place to think things over. The thing was, those brochures, and his research on the human rights groups, had taught him about rules and regulations around slave holding and trading, of which he’d previously been mostly unaware, and it made him realize there was something strange about Taven’s purchase.

So, what were the known facts here? Swift had eventually tired of Taven and had wanted to get rid of him. In a way it was surprising, since an exotic with hair like that wouldn’t be easy to come by, not for a working class guy and all around thug like Swift. Obviously, there’d been a need for something that was more important to Swift, and his ‘customers’. Roth thought he knew what that was.

He thought back on his own boyhood years. When Roth had been about fourteen or fifteen, he’d started to grow facial hair. He’d been ridiculously proud of this fact, and had inspected the few straggly tufts on his upper lip every morning in the mirror while brushing his teeth. Roth chuckled at himself, remembering how he’d tried to grow a moustache, and how it had made him feel like a real man. 

The few times he’d been in close proximity to Taven he’d noticed the same kind of soft hairs starting to grow in. Taven was maybe a bit later than he’d been, but just give the kid a few more years and he would probably be able to sport an impressive red beard to go with his fiery hair. Roth couldn’t help grinning at this inner vision.

However, Roth doubted this sign of development would fill Taven with the same kind of pride, but only fear of rejection. He’d had good reason to. Yeah, Roth was pretty damn sure Swift had simply thought Taven was getting too old, while the new boy was probably just the right tender age. He shuddered. What a _fucking_ bastard.

Well, getting rid of Taven couldn’t have been easy. Who would want a kid like that? Of course, Nickel had wanted him, and had obviously grown very fond of him, too. Roth supposed there were other goodhearted people out there, as well, who might have taken in a slave like that, but, yeah, he doubted Swift knew very many such people. In Swift’s circles, there would have been no one who wanted to take the damaged, disease-ridden, kid off his hands. 

Actually, Roth was surprised Swift hadn’t just killed the kid then. Seriously, would a sadist like that care if someone like Taven lived or died? Hell, who knew, maybe Swift would have even enjoyed slowly torturing the kid to death, once he’d decided he was worthless to him. It was probably only practical matters, which had stopped Swift from murdering the poor sod. 

One of the things Roth had learned was that putting a slave down required a license. It wasn’t a law born out of concern for the slave. If you killed one anyway, it wasn’t considered murder, but was simply vandalism if you didn’t own said slave yourself and a sanitary offence if you did. Killing a slave – littering, it was the same damn thing in the eyes of the law.

Swift wouldn’t have a license to put a slave down – only people at the slave centers, doctors, and slave breeders and traders had – but would he care about that? Yes, maybe he would, but only because he obviously didn’t want anything to do with the law overall. Roth remembered how Swift had fled the mall only at the sight of those security guards. Granted, a man like Swift wouldn’t respect the law, but he obviously didn’t want to draw any sort of unnecessary attention to whatever shady businesses he was involved in. A slave’s rotting body, polluting the neighborhood, possibly traceable back to him if found, might not send him to jail, but it would give him unwanted attention. 

So, why hadn’t he taken Taven to one of those god-awful centers then, where they did put slaves down for you? Well, naturally Swift would rather sell, since giving the boy up for extermination would leave him without any kind of monetary compensation. It was exactly what Swift had succeeded in doing. He had sold the boy to a slave market.

That’s where things stopped making any kind of sense to Roth.

The slave market where they had found Taven had obviously been an upscale one. Nickel wouldn’t have gone there in the first place if it hadn’t been a ‘nice’ establishment. Why on earth would a trader like that buy someone like Taven? In fact – Roth had to say it – why would any slave trader in their right mind buy Taven, or even take him for free. 

Not that he thought slave traders were a particularly coldhearted bunch, but they did run a business, after all. They couldn’t rely on regularly having customers as softhearted and naïve as Nickel, or they would go bankrupt in no time. 

Buying a slave like Taven would be bad business, period. He was likely to not only cause a trader a substantial economical loss, but many other problems as well. The way Taven had behaved the trader had been right in being worried. If Nickel hadn’t been the person he was, he might have soon regretted his impulsive act of kindness and reported the trader to the authorities, for selling him an aggressive or maybe even dangerous slave. 

From a trader’s point of view, the only smart thing to do would have been to destroy Taven as soon as possible. So, why had he let the slave stay on for weeks, scaring off his customers, and risk his very business manipulating a clan lord into buying the boy? 

Roth could guess why. Doing what is best for your business is one thing in theory. Actually putting someone as young as that to death, quite another. Roth thought back to that day and how Taven had panicked and acted out in fear and desperation. That kid wouldn’t have gone quietly to his own death. It would have been an unspeakably messy, horrifying and undignified event, and would most likely have caused trauma among all the other kids in that hall, as well. 

Yes, if you weren’t an actual psychopath, Roth couldn’t imagine anyone going through with something like that if it was in any way possible to avoid. 

It brought him back to that persistent feeling of something being wrong. When being offered the kid, the trader must have examined him, and immediately have understood it would most likely come to such horrors. So why hadn’t he easily avoided the inevitable nightmare, by simply saying no to a man trying to sell him a severely damaged slave?

He could think of only one reason. Swift had something on the trader. That meant the two of them knew each other already. Yes, it was so fucking clear to him now he could kick himself for not thinking of it sooner. Whatever shady business Swift had going on, the trader must be involved, and as such, would be able to give Roth the information he so badly needed.

Roth got up from the bench, crumpled the empty paper cup in his fist and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He would go back to the slave market and squeeze the truth out of that trader, right now.

\-----o0o-----

There were more people in the remodeled train station in the afternoon, Roth noted as he walked through the doors, remembering how Nickel and he had been the only customers that morning. The trader was busy with one of these customers, so Roth stepped to the side and waited patiently.

He didn’t have to wait long. The trader turned to point something out to his customer, a young woman in a business suit, spotted Roth standing by the entry, and virtually froze, staring at him in shock.

Roth smirked. Well, what do you know? The man recognized him, and he didn’t look happy at the unexpected appearance. 

Snapping out of it, the trader beckoned to one of his employees and seemingly ordered him to take over showing the female customer around, since he then hurriedly excused himself to her and walked straight up to Roth. 

“Ah,” he exclaimed with a forced smile. “Mr.… Mr.… I’m sorry; I don’t believe I ever caught your name?”

“Roth,” he curtly informed the trader.

“Mr. Roth, yes, of course, an employee of the Wren clan, if I’m not mistaken? Are you perchance interested in purchasing a boy of your own, Mr. Roth?” 

A question asked in pure hopeful desperation if ever he’d heard one, Roth thought. Considering how shook up the man looked, he clearly didn’t believe that was the case. Roth wasn’t about to reassure him. “No, I’m not,” he loudly replied, making sure his voice carried across the hall. “I came to discuss the redhead you sold to my boss.”

The trader looked about to faint on the spot. “Sir, please, not so loud,” he pleaded. “Let’s take this to my office.”

Roth pretended to think it over only to make the trader sweat, but then he nodded. 

The trader quickly escorted him into said office. 

Roth looked about. He remembered the room. It even had that blond collared young man he knew was the trader’s personal slave. He was sitting on a low footstool in a corner; busy polishing what looked like an expensive pair of men’s leather shoes. He sprang to his feet when they came inside and bowed deeply, but the poor thing was as unceremoniously dismissed as the last time. 

“Get out!” the slave trader ordered. The slave put down the half- done shoe and obeyed without a word, quickly scampering across the floor on bare feet to slip out the door.

The trader leaned over his desk for a box of tissues, pulled one out and dabbed at his forehead. “I knew this day would come,” he whined. “I _knew_ it. What on earth was I thinking? Selling that slave is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. You must understand, Mr. Roth, the boy wasn’t meant for sale, but your employer insisted.”

He pulled out a few more tissues and dried off his face. “Your employer assured me he knew what he was doing and would take full responsibility for- for… This isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, come on!” Roth sneered. “As if you needed to be persuaded. You wanted nothing else than to be rid of the boy. You knew exactly what you were doing. Protesting just enough, making my boss curious, distracting him from examining the slave properly, threatening to have the kid put down… Yeah, you just went ahead and straight up manipulated the young lord, didn’t you? I’ll tell you what I think,” Roth said. “You just couldn’t stomach having the kid killed, so you risked selling him to the first person with a soft enough heart not to be able to walk away from that poor damaged creature.”

The trader paled, unable to answer. 

Bingo, Roth thought. “Yeah,” he continued. “I bet you’ve regretted that decision about a million times over. You must only have been waiting for it to come back and bite you in the ass, eh?”

“Good God!” the trader exclaimed. “What has that awful slave done? Oh God, my reputation, my business… I’m ruined!” He pressed his tissue-filled hands against his face and looked like he was about to start to cry.

Roth rolled his eyes. “Oh, quit the drama,” he said. “The ‘awful slave’ hasn’t done anything. He’s a good kid actually, all things considered. Sure, he have issues, but he’s trying. Lord Wren is quite fond of him. He’s named the boy ‘Taven’ and taken him up into his personal service. The redhead is hanging on his heels pretty much twenty-four-seven.”

The tissue-equipped hands slowly sank to reveal a face staring in surprise. “R- really? The young lord actually managed to tame that- that…? You’re telling me he doesn’t mind how the boy’s body looks. He doesn’t intend to report this. You’re really not here to return the slave?” 

“Return him?” Roth snorted. “Here? Yeah, like… No! There’s no chance in hell Lord Wren would ever bring the slave back here, no matter what. If the kid isn’t a complete mess, it sure isn’t thanks to the likes of you. I mean, what the hell kind of business do you run here? You try to pass this off as some exclusive respectable establishment for the rich and powerful, and then you treat the boys like fucking trash? You beat that poor sod bloody, told him to his face you were gonna shoot him in the head, chained him… Did you rape him, too? Any of your guards did?”

The trader only shook his head, looking shocked. 

Roth had only meant to act rough, to put the trader in a more pliable state before asking about Swift, but now he realized his anger had become genuine.

“Oh, don’t fucking deny it,” he growled. “We know. The kid came with a torn asshole, for fucks sake. What? You thought you didn’t need to care about someone like him. With that fucking tattoo and the missing nipple and all, he was worthless anyway, right? Unsellable? Might as well fuck the kid until he fucking _bleeds_.” 

The trader finally found the voice to defend himself. “That is not how I run my business. I sell healthy, likeable and trained servants, not whores. We are normally treating the boys well. You saw, Mr. Roth, you saw with your own eyes what he was like. What was I suppose to have done? That slave was beyond reasoning with. I had to beat and restrain him. I certainly did not have sex with that- that… If any of my employees did it was without permission.”

Roth knew the trader was right. Taven had been a special case. Most likely, he didn’t usually mistreat his merchandize; still, Roth just couldn’t let it go. 

“Yeah? Still. Why do I get the feeling you’ve just created the perfect little business for your tastes here, eh? All those boys… What do you like the best, hah, the older ones, who know how to give you a proper blowjob, or do you prefer the small and scared ones, all cute and innocent, and shit? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that poor thing polishing your shoes as much as it damn well pleases you, no matter what he thinks of having your big belly crushing him into the mattress.” 

The trader gasped indignantly. “I’m not doing anything illegal, and how I conduct my business is none of _your_ business. Neither is what I chose to use my own goddamn private property for. If your employer really has no beef with me and intends to keep the slave, then what is it you want? Did you only come here to insult me? Well, I’ll not stand for this in my own office. Leave, or I’ll call the guards and have you removed from the premises.” 

Roth cursed inside when the trader went for the door. He’d let anger take over and had gone too far. 

He quickly stepped in the trader’s way, and put a hand on the door. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he said, trying to sound self-assure, all the while wondering how he would explain this to Nickel if the trader called the police on him. There was no way in hell he was going to be forceful with this man, after all, or lay as much as a hand on him. He wasn’t a thug. Roth was only playing one here, sort of. “My boss _doesn’t_ have a beef with you,” he said. “At least, not for the time being, but I suppose he _could_ do some real harm to your business, if he really wanted to. You know… Word of mouth, and all that…”

The trader hesitated. “Good God, what do you _want_?” he finally said, looking desperate enough.

“I want information,” Roth simply replied. 

“Information?” 

“Yes. The man who sold the redhead to you, Swift, I want to know what you two are in on together.”

The trader startled. “I… I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Roth. The man sold me a slave. I- I’ve had no contact with this person before, or since. He’s a complete stranger to me.” 

“Yeah, right!” Roth sneered. “I don’t believe you for a second. You’ve done nothing but confirming just how much trouble the redhead was. Are you telling me you would willingly have bought such a slave to this fine establishment of yours? No way! Swift has something on you, doesn’t he? You know him, don’t you?”

The trader stared at him, mouth open. There was a large bead of sweat running down his face, and though his now shaking hands were still full of tissues, this time he didn’t even try wiping it off.

\-----o0o-----

Roth was mightily pleased with himself, walking back to the car. Talking to the slave trader had been, if not a stroke of genius, then at least a good idea. Finally, he had something on Swift he could work with.

He had been mostly correct in his suspicions that Swift and the trader knew each other. In fact, they went way back and had been in school together as kids. The trader had described to him how already in primary school James Swift had been a classic bully. Apparently, half the school had been scared to death of the big brutal boy. Not surprising, Swift had turned to crime early in life, and when the trader had developed a, as he put it, ‘minor drug problem’ in his early twenties, the bully from his old school had become his dealer. As is inevitable in these situations, he’d ended up owing Swift money. 

Well, the trader had managed to turn his life around. Moving and putting himself through rehab, he’d eventually ended up in the slave trading business and had worked hard to create a respectable middle-class life for himself. He had severed all ties with his old life and did not ever intend to contact anyone from his past, certainly not Swift. 

However, to his utter shock and dismay, Swift had suddenly turned up at the slave market several months earlier reminding him he had never paid the old debt. The trader had shuddered and swallowed hard as he had described to Roth how Swift had quite convinced him not paying this debt would be highly detrimental to both his health and his business. There was no mistaking how scared he’d been. 

Well, in spite of his fear greed had still prompted him to try to convince Swift he didn’t have the money, and then Swift had suddenly let up on the threats and made him an unexpected offer. If the trader agreed to take this damaged slave off his hands, and hand over the young longhair exotic Swift knew he currently had in stock, instead – he’d forget the debt and never bother his ‘old friend’ again. 

The trader had of course _not_ wanted Taven, and he’d been even sadder to give Swift the other young exotic he’d recently acquired, but he’d felt he had no choice. He’d had no doubt Swift could hurt him badly, and if switching boys with him would get rid of this particularly frightening ghost from his past, for good, it had seemed worth it.

‘_He was only thirteen_’, the trader had whined, obviously still mourning his loss. ‘_Trained by the best breeder in the country he was, and with the most adorable looks. Such a clever little boy, too, and as well mannered, obedient and eager to please as anyone could wish for. He had that highly sought after natural submissiveness, you know_’, the man had continued, and then he’d gone on at some length about just how much money he’d planned on raking in, offering that boy to the clans.

Roth really had had to contain his returning anger. The trader had fucking handed over an innocent kid to a man he _knew_ would severely abuse him only to save his own skin, and all he could think of was the fucking money he’d lost out on?

He was still happy he hadn’t taken a fist to the bastard’s nose, as he’d itched to do, or the trader might not have ended with telling him he was positive Swift was still dealing in drugs, since apart from threatening him, he’d also offered to sell him some.

That’s what Roth had wanted to hear. 

Roth got in his car and drove toward the South End, intending to go home. There wasn’t much more he could do today anyway, he thought. The trader’s words were, of course, only hearsay, but at least he knew what type of crime to concentrate his future research on now, and… 

Struck by a sudden memory, Roth slowed down the car and made a highly irregular U-turn to go back downtown. A tiny detail, which had seemed completely insignificant before, had popped back up in his mind, this time presenting itself as potentially interesting in the light of the new information.

It might be nothing at all, but it was worth checking out.

\-----o0o-----

Roth looked about the flower shop he’d just entered. Nothing seemed immediately off; it pretty much looked like any flower shop he’d ever been in. However, he doubted most flower shops had a customer named ‘James Swift’.

At the time, following Swift, it _had_ struck him as odd a brute like him had bought flowers, but Roth realized now it was the wrong way to look at it. People who didn’t look like the type to buy flowers probably did all the time. It was just prejudices. What was weird was _where_ Swift had chosen to buy those flowers. Why would he go through the trouble taking the bus out of the South End, cross the complete downtown area, locating this particular flower shop, and then only buy a cheap prepackaged bunch of tulips, the type he could much more easily have picked up at the convenience store a few blocks down from where he lived?

No, Roth was convinced now there was something fishy about this.

There weren’t many customers in the shop this late in the afternoon and it was soon Roth’s turn. The woman behind the counter smiled and asked what she could do for him. He studied her for a few seconds. In her sixties, short and plump, red-rimmed glasses, too much lipstick and bleached hair teased high on her head, friendly eyes and a genuine smile. She sure didn’t look like an accomplice of a man like Swift, more like someone’s caring but slightly ditzy mom or grandma, but, he reminded himself, prejudices would make you miss stuff. 

He only hesitated to set his impromptu plan in motion for the shortest time. What was the worst that could happen, after all, that she thought he was some kind of lunatic? He could live with that. 

Roth quickly looked over his shoulders, as if to check they were alone, before leaning in closer and knowingly locking eyes with her. “Jim sent me,” he said, hoping Swift would be on a ‘nickname basis’ with the more trusted of his cronies. “Told me to pick up some… tulips?”

For a few breathless moments, the woman only looked at him blankly, but then… “Already? Are you sure?” she asked, eyeing him with suspicion. 

“You don’t have it yet?” Roth asked, wishing he knew for sure what ‘it’ actually was, while trying to hide how excited he was there actually seemed to be an ‘it’ at all.

“Well, yes, I just had it delivered, but he usually waits until…” Again, she gave him a suspicious look, but then smiled smugly. “What color tulips?” she asked.

Roth really had to concentrate on not returning the smug smile. She was trying to be clever, eh. It was a test, obviously, but Roth wasn’t worried. He distinctly remembered Swift coming out of the flower shop with a prepackaged bunch of yellow tulips. “Yellow,” he said.

That was the magic word, it seemed.

“Certainly, Sir,” she said, her smile friendly again. “I’ll have the order for you right away.” She disappeared in the back and returned less than a minute later with the tulips. Roth received them, gave her a short nod, and left.

Back in the car, he ended up just sitting behind the wheel, holding the flowers out, staring at them. “_That_ was fucking surreal,” he said aloud to himself. If this bunch of tulips contained what he suspected it did, then he would be ridiculously lucky, or it was only the woman back there in the flower shop being gullible in the extreme. Had she really just handed over a package of illegal drugs to a complete stranger? 

Roth couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer; he ripped the plastic off and eagerly parted the flower stems, tulips falling into his lap, and… Yes. Fucking _yes_, she really had. Roth held up a small zip bag, containing a faintly yellowish crystallized substance, with a wide grin and a sense of complete triumph. Fuck yes, Swift was going _down_. 

He couldn’t believe it. He’d gotten nowhere in months, and suddenly he pretty much had all he needed in a single afternoon. Nickel would be euphoric. 

Thinking of his boss, Roth forcefully curbed his elated emotions. Swift wasn’t in the slammer just yet, and many things could still go wrong. He had to remember, evidence hadn’t landed in his lap because of some outstanding detective work. He’d only been lucky obeying a hunch, and it could just as easily have backfired on him. What if ‘yellow’ hadn’t been the magic word, for example, what if the right answers had been different colors and types of flowers at each delivery. Maybe the time he witnessed Swift picking up a shipment just happened to be ‘yellow tulips week’ and if he’d followed him a different time it would have been ‘pink carnations week’ instead. He could have fucked this up in so many ways.

His excitement cooling down, he wasn’t very comfortable having these drugs in his possession, either. Roth supposed he should go to the police right away, and tell them what he knew. He would do that woman a favor, when Swift found out about this he would probably kill her. 

Roth quickly stuffed the zip bag into his shirt pocket, brushed the tulips from his lap and started the car. No, he wouldn’t go to the police tonight. If he did, they would arrest the shopkeeper only and Swift would get away. Roth had to wait until he could talk with someone higher up and impress on them the importance of catching the bigger fish here, even if this particular fish only ran a drug smuggling operation as relatively small as this. 

However, he couldn’t wait too long or Swift might find out what had happened. He probably had at least until tomorrow, though, Roth hoped. The shopkeeper had obviously believed Swift really had sent him, and Swift had apparently not planned to pick up the drugs quite yet. With some luck, none of them would contact the other for at least a few days, both thinking everything was in order at the other end. 

First thing tomorrow morning, Roth would contact an old buddy of his he thought could set him up with meeting the Chief Inspector directly, without having to go through the usual channels – in which he was likely to get stuck for days or weeks – and in the meantime, he’d keep quiet about it to Nickel. 

Nickel was frazzled about the whole thing, Roth thought. His friend would be doubly upset if he knew about this promising development, and then things would still go wrong. No, Roth wouldn’t inform his boss until Swift was actually in custody, and by then Nickel would be so happy, he wouldn’t care about Roth having kept him in the dark.


	43. The Best Laid Plans…

“I ain’t going,” Taven yelled. “I _ain’t_ going.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows. These days, Taven wasn’t usually this openly defiant. The slave knew very well, of all the methods he could employ to get out of things – pleading, stubborn sulking, tears – this was the least likely to succeed, and the most likely to anger his master.

“Yes, you _are_!” he said. “Change your clothes! We’re leaving in ten minutes. Well?”

He really did expect the boy to obey. For all the occasional testing of limits that still occurred, when he wasn’t panicking or truly despairing, Taven usually sensed when his master wasn’t in the mood for nonsense, and didn’t push too far. However…

“I ain’t gonna go,” Taven stubbornly maintained. “And- and if you make me, I- I’ll kill myself. I swear, Master, I’ll fucking kill myself.”

Nickel was completely taken aback and not immediately able to answer. He’d known Taven would be particularly reluctant to see the old family doctor this time, since his secret would then be shared with someone else, but he hadn’t understood the boy felt this strongly about it. What if he meant it? A chill went up Nickel’s spine, what if he forced the boy and he really did make an attempt on his own life. What if he succeeded? 

He refused to consider such a thing. Taven’s threat was only that, a threat. An empty threat he thought would work since he’d once witnessed his master lose his composure over an empty box of painkillers. Taven was only trying to manipulate him and Nickel couldn’t let the boy do that to him. 

“If I believed you’d really do that,” he said. “I’d have you watched day and night, do you understand? I wouldn’t leave you alone anywhere. I’d have someone watch you even in the bathroom. Don’t believe me? Just try me! I assure you; I will _not_ let you hurt yourself.”

The confusion on Taven’s face, made Nickel want to take the boy in his arms and promise him he didn’t need to do anything he didn’t want to, ever again, if only he never tried anything of the sort, but he held himself back.

“Change your clothes!” he repeated the order.

Taven obeyed without a word, turning away from him to open his closets and take out a pair of pants with shaking hands.

\-----o0o-----

Roth walked into the agreed downtown diner early the next morning, immediately spotting the uniformed police officer at the far end of the room, already seated in a booth. He gave the older man a smile and raised a hand in greeting, nodding toward the counter, indicating he would order some breakfast before joining him at the table. 

The police officer smiled back.

During his time as a private investigator, Roth had had many dealings with the police and had gotten to know a few of them fairly well. 

It wasn’t a given friendly feelings should occur. The police viewed his former profession with ever-changing eyes. Sometimes private investigators were a good complement, able to snoop out stuff among people who were more likely to clamp up with the police about, and overall, having useful information about this and that. The next day, the police considered them the worst kind of interfering busybodies who made every police officer’s work harder by constantly butting in, and by insisting the information they had was confidential and couldn’t be disclosed under any circumstances. 

Many of his colleagues had despised being treated in this ‘fickle’ way, and had seemed to hate on the police more or less from old habit and tradition. Roth on the other hand, had never seen a reason to provoke the police just for the sake of it. This mellow attitude had proven useful on quite a few occasions, and though he’d lost contact with most of the people he befriended back then, he hoped it would help him this time, as well.

\-----o0o-----

Taven gave him no more trouble, until he parked the car outside Dr. Cordeaux’s practice.

Facing the immediate inevitability of seeing the doctor, Taven changed tactics. He refused to leave the car, and desperately begged his master to take him back home. Nickel was still angry with Taven for threatening him with suicide and couldn’t take the stress. This was for his own good, damn it, and the boy knew it was.

Nickel got out of the car and rounded it with angry strides, flung the door open, grabbed Taven by the arm, and virtually tore him out of the seat. Taven yelped and cowered in his grip, and it immediately made him regret his harshness. 

“Oh, God…” Nickel said, pulling the boy into his arms. “I didn’t mean to be so… I didn’t mean it.” 

Taven only shook in reply.

\-----o0o-----

“It’s been a while,” the police officer across the table commented.

Roth nodded, agreeing. 

Of all the acquaintances Roth had made in the police, he liked Meyer the most. He was a short wiry balding man, and even this close to retirement was still only a ‘simple foot soldier’ in the force. What he might lack in stature and ambition, though, he made up for in good old-fashioned reliability, decency and integrity. Roth felt bad for letting years go by since he’d last looked up Meyer, and for doing so now only because he needed help. “Yeah,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “You know what it’s like. Time flies.”

Meyer nodded and dipped his gray moustache into his coffee cup. “I hear you’ve moved up in life,” he said, blowing at the hot beverage. “Word is you’re working for the clans these days. Head of security, they say. Not bad!”

Roth raised an eyebrow. “Who says that? They’re exaggerating. I don’t really work for ‘the clans’, only _a_ clan, and I’m just an ordinary bodyguard.”

Meyer smiled. “Must still be better than patrolling the streets? Gotta be a lot of leaning back and just watch the money roll in, eh?”

Roth didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed. “It can be more interesting than people think,” he said. “But I guess, most of the times… Yeah, it’s a lot of leaning back and collecting the money,” he finally admitted. “I work security at night downtown, too,” he added. “You know, at the side”. 

“So,” Meyer said, peering curiously over the rim of his coffee cup. “What are they like in private then, those lords and ladies, I mean?”

“Like most people, I guess,” Roth said, opting for a vague answer. “There’s an equal amount of assholes and decent people all around, aren’t there?” 

Meyer smiled again, but didn’t ask further. 

“Actually, it’s on a lord’s behalf I asked for a favor,” Roth said. 

“Really?” Meyer probably wondered what _he_ could do to help a lord. “He’s in some kind of trouble? You know, I don’t make ‘things go away’, no matter how well those people pay.” 

“Uh… No! It’s nothing like that at all.” Roth assured him. “It’s just… See, he’s got this thing against someone, it’s kind of personal, and I’ve been helping him trying to, sort of, take this guy down.”

Meyer stared.

“Believe me.” Roth hurried to clarify. “This isn’t a nice guy I’m talking about. It’s a brutal thug, a real nasty piece of work, and, I suspect, a criminal, as well. My aristocratic acquaintance… Well, it’s my boss. He has legitimate reasons to hate this person, but he would of course never do anything illegal himself. He only wants the guy in jail, where he belongs in any case, and asked me to find evidence of crime. I think I have that evidence now.”

“What kind of evidence?” Meyer asked.

“I have reason to believe he deals in drugs,” Roth answered.

There was a glimmer of interest in the old police officer’s eyes. Roth knew he wasn’t fond of drug dealers. “How can I help?” he asked.

“Well, he has this front, a flower shop downtown, and I simply want help trapping him,” Roth explained. “Thing is, we don’t have much time. If we’re gonna catch the right guy, and not only the shop keeper, setting this thing up has to be done, like, today.”

“I see,” Meyer said. “Do you have a name?”

“Yeah, ‘James Swift’, you’ve heard of him?”

Meyer leaned back in his seat and seemed to think hard. “You know, it does sound familiar, but I can’t place it. Can you come back to the precinct with me? I think you should talk to the chief about this.”

Roth nodded. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

\-----o0o-----

“Hello, Taven, it’s nice to see you again,” the old doctor said, as he was brought into his office.

Taven only muttered something resembling a greeting under his breath in reply. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to look up at the old man. 

Outside, by the car, his master had assured him again the doctor wouldn’t taunt him for his problems. Dr. Cordeaux would only want to help, he’d repeated. Taven wasn’t so sure.

The first time at the doctor’s office, Taven had been considerably more insecure about his _master’s_ intentions. He’d revealed things to the doctor because he’d known it would come out anyway. Taven had been sure his master would get rid of him, hearing about the STDs, and seeing as the old man _had_ seemed kind of nice, Taven had had absolutely nothing to lose taking a chance the doctor would convince his new owner to keep him. 

He still didn’t know if that’s what the doctor had really done, or if it was Nickel who’d decided to keep him against the doctor’s advice. 

Well, as not even peeing on the man had scared him off, Taven was now more inclined to believe it was the latter. He didn’t want to have made it this far, only to have the old doctor giving convincing Nickel to get rid of him another try, and maybe succeed this time. 

He was fucking scared.

The doctor seemed intent on coaxing him out of his sullen mood. “I haven’t had a chance to see the new teeth your master gave you,” he said, sounding both kind and curious. “I’d like to have a look. Now, now, boy, won’t you look up and let me have a small peek only?”

“Taven,” his master warned.

He obeyed then, meeting the old man’s peering gaze. 

The doctor reached a hand out and carefully pushed at his lips. “It looks marvelous, doesn’t it?” he said, smiling. “It must be such a relief to be rid of the toothache, and just look at what a handsome young man you’ve become.” He patted Taven’s cheek in affection.

Kind, yeah… The old doctor _had_ been nothing but kind, every time they’d met. Maybe he was only being stupid, after all.

“Well,” the old man said, still talking only to him. “What seems to be the problem this morning then?”

Taven froze. 

Nickel was embracing him from behind, his crossed hands resting lightly on Taven’s belly, holding his arms down. He didn’t know if his master meant to comfort him, or only wanted to make sure he wouldn’t turn and run again. The man was probably smart to. He just couldn’t talk about this, not again, and if running had been an option…

“I- I can’t,” he managed, hanging his head again. “I can’t say it. Master, please don’t make me.”

“It’s all right, Taven,” Nickel said. “I’ll explain.”

“No,” Taven pleaded. “Please, don’t tell him.”

“We can’t just stand here and say nothing,” his master argued.

Yeah, he knew that, he wasn’t fucking stupid. He just couldn’t decide what was worst, being forced to admit openly what a fucking disgusting retard he was, or listening to someone else say the same damn thing. 

“It’s sensitive,” Nickel explained over Taven’s shoulder. 

“I see,” the doctor said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, boy, whatever it is; I’m sure. Nickel, maybe it would be better if I talked to you alone. Let him wait in the exam room, it might be less stressful.”

He could feel his master nodding behind him. “Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?” he asked.

Taven nodded. He wasn’t fucking all right with any of this, but at least he didn’t have to hear them talk about him then.

\-----o0o-----

Apparently, there was a new Chief Inspector in town.

Through a thick glass pane to the Chief Inspector’s office, Roth watched a smooth-faced young man he’d never seen before speaking with Meyer, trying to catch what they were saying. The guy didn’t look a day older than Nickel and sure didn’t seem to be chief material. He doubted this one had any experience to speak of. How had a tenderfoot like him landed a job like this? Connections, of course. 

Well, at least the guy – Meyer had informed Roth his name was Simon – didn’t seem the difficult type. Meyer only spoke with him a few minutes – Simon casting several short and unreadable glances at him through the glass – before the door opened to let him in the office. 

Meyer passed him in the door, excusing himself, only smiling at Roth’s quick ‘thank you’.

The new Chief Inspector held his hand out. “Julian Simon,” he presented himself.

Roth shook the hand. “Roth,” he replied.

Much like Nickel, Simon pulled an extra chair from along the wall and asked him to take a seat, while sitting himself down behind his desk. At least government funding made sure the desk was far from as large and impressive as his boss’ was.

“So, Mr. Roth,” he said. “Tell me everything!”

Okay, Roth thought, no small talk then. Good. He wanted to get right to it, as well. God only knows how much time they’d already wasted. For all he knew, Swift was calling his accomplice in the flower shop right now and had already started to dismantle the whole operation in sheer paranoia at being informed of the strange visit yesterday. 

Roth briefly explained who he was and who he worked for, and then repeated what he’d told Meyer. He admitted straight up he wasn’t going to tell Simon why Nickel wanted to get at Swift, other than having a good reason to, and described how he’d followed and researched the man on his boss’ behalf, but found nothing. Then he lied by omission, leaving out the whole episode at the slave market, only telling Simon how witnessing Swift ‘buying’ flowers had eventually made him suspicious, and how his hunch had proved to be correct. 

Lastly, he fished the zip-bagged drugs out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the desk.

Simon eyed the bag without touching it. “That’s quite a story, Mr. Roth,” he said. “Though, so far, this doesn’t look very good for _you_, I’m afraid. The only thing I know for certain here, after all, is you being in possession of illegal drugs, and, if I’m not mistaken, not having legal access to those archives you researched, either.”

“What the fuck!” Roth said. So typical the likes of Simon. He was offering them a chance to get a real piece of scum off the streets, and all ‘Chief Inspector Baby Face’ could think of was how he’d gotten the passwords for a few restricted archives? “You think I lie about all this?” he said. “You seriously think I’d walk in here if those were my drugs? What? You think I’m making Swift up?” 

Unexpectedly Simon smiled, managing not to look smug at all, only amused, which, in a way, was even more annoying. “I’ve seen people do stranger things,” he said, “but, no, I don’t think you’re lying about anything, Mr. Roth, only thought I should remind you. You’re not a licensed private investigator anymore, and having a clan lord at your back doesn’t mean you’re above the law.”

Oh, fuck you. Roth thought, but wisely refrained from expressing this ‘heartfelt sentiment’ aloud. 

“I know you’re not making Swift up,” Simon continued. “I’m well aware of who he is.”

“You are?” 

Simon nodded. “It was before my time here, but I’ve taken a special interest in certain older cases. James Swift seems to be a petty criminal of the worst kind and a jack-of-all-trades. Thief, blackmailer, drug dealer, pimp…There are no redeeming qualities about him whatsoever, as far as I can tell. We arrested him on several occasions in the past, petty misdemeanors only, but he always managed to wiggle his way out of it. He never did any prison time to speak of, and mostly got away with things by making deals, ratting people out to the left and to the right. The man hasn’t a loyal bone in his body.” 

Roth nodded. “Sounds like Swift, all right. Hey, wait a minute! If he has this kind of rap sheet, why couldn’t I find him in the archives? His name should have been all over the place.”

“He was taken out of them,” Simon said.

“What? Why?”

Simon shrugged his shoulders. “He made a deal. We finally got him on possession, with a big enough amount to put him away for a longer time, but apparently Swift had saved a trump card for a situation like this. He’d been sitting on some crucial evidence against a much bigger fish, an up and coming drug lord named Lawrence. Swift demanded a clean slate for his information, and together with a promise he would turn his life around, the prosecutor bought it. To make a long story short, Lawrence went down and Swift walked. His entire criminal past was erased from the official records, and we haven’t heard or seen from him since.”

Lawrence, huh? Well this sure explained a thing or two. No wonder Swift seemed so fucking paranoid. He got arrested again there would likely be no more deals, and he would be constantly looking over his shoulder for anyone who might have found out what he did to this Lawrence-guy and would be out for revenge. 

The whole thing made Roth angry. “The prosecutor just let him walk?” he said. “You don’t actually believe he turned his life around, do you? Because I can assure you, he did no such thing. I know for a fact he’s still a pimp, that he still blackmails and threatens people, and I sure as hell know he’s still dealing in drugs. He’s only more careful about being caught these days, that’s all. Do you have any idea how much damage this guy does?”

“I can only imagine,” Simon said, looking concerned. “However, it’s all about catching the bigger fish, isn’t it, Mr. Roth?”

Roth didn’t answer. After all, it had been his argument, too, hadn’t it? “The weird thing is,” he said instead. “Swift confronted me a while back, when I was following him, and he mentioned this ‘Lawrence’. Of course, I checked that name, too, but found nothing out of the ordinary, certainly not a fucking drug lord. He wasn’t taken out of the records, too, was he?”

“No, of course not,” Simon said, looking puzzled, but then he gave him that annoying amused smile again and reached for a note pad. “I bet you entered a few different spelling variations of ‘Lawrence’ in the search box, since you only heard the name spoken, right?” he said while scribbling something down. He held up the note pad. “You might have missed this particular variation.”

The note said, ‘Lorentz’. 

Oh fuck, Roth thought. He’d missed a possible lead already back then only because of such a silly mistake. It was embarrassing. He must have looked as foolish as he felt. Simon grinned at him.

“Don’t beat yourself up too hard, Mr. Roth,” he said. “We all make mistakes, and as for me, I’ve only been waiting for Swift to make one. Believe me, I want that guy off the streets as much as you and your boss do, and this time there won’t be any damn deals.” Simon nodded at the zip bag before him on the desk. “If this pans out, he’ll be put away for so long he’ll have to continue his criminal career in the retirement home when he gets out again.”

Roth returned Simon’s satisfied grin with a wide one of his own, he started to like this guy.

\-----o0o-----

They were both quiet in the car, going home. 

It had been a beneficial visit, in some ways, Nickel thought. Dr. Cordeaux’s way of handling Taven was good for the boy he was sure. The old doctor had calmly explained how the bedwetting couldn’t possibly be his fault, and how it didn’t make him either ‘disgusting’ or ‘retarded’, there was no need for shame. 

Nickel had tried to tell the boy these very things, repeatedly, but he hoped the same words had made a bigger impression coming from a doctor. 

At least Taven had seemed relieved to hear it.

The physical examination had been worse. Similar to other occasions, taking Taven to the doctor’s, Nickel had preferred if he could have left the room, but Taven had outright asked him to stay the entire time. How could he have said no? 

Taven had feigned indifference to the whole thing then and made no trouble, obediently taking off his clothes when told to. In the stark light of the exam room, he’d seemed thinner and paler than ever, the scars and the tattoo eerily pronounced, and no matter his resolve, the boy’s apprehension had practically bounced off the sickly green walls. Nickel had looked away. It was strange how a body that had turned him on so in his bedroom, suddenly only made him ill at ease. 

Nickel cast a glance at Taven beside him in the passenger seat. The boy was staring at his hands in his lap, nervously fiddling with the end of his long braid. Again, he was afraid Taven might have sensed his discomfort.

“Well,” he said, trying to lighten up the pressing atmosphere in the car. “Dr. Cordeaux found nothing physically wrong with you. That’s good.”

“How’s that good, Master?” Taven argued, bitterness in his voice. “I wish it had been something like that. He could have given me some pills, right? Now, it’s like there’s just something wrong with my head. I’m completely fucking mental. Can’t fix that.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” Nickel protested. “There’s nothing wrong with your head, and we don’t know if it can be ‘fixed’ or not. Dr. Cordeaux said it might simply go away by itself, in time.” 

“And what if it doesn’t?” Taven said. “You’re just being nice about it ‘cause you think it’s gonna go away soon, but what if it doesn’t? You ain’t gonna want a slave like that, not in the long run. I _know_ you don’t.”

Maybe there was a kernel of truth in Taven’s words, and maybe that made him defensive. “Well, being so negative is certainly not helping,” he replied. “We have to stay positive,” he added, trying to stifle his annoyance and sound encouraging instead.

Taven kept twisting the end of the braid around his crooked little finger. “Yes, Master,” he muttered, staring out the window.

\-----o0o-----

Roth left the police station with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was relieved the new Chief Inspector had known about Swift, had been completely onboard with his plans, and agreed they had to act fast. On the other hand, he was rather pissed off about the fact Simon had resolutely shut him out from said plans. 

Not that Roth had expected to be in on any kind of action, and had known it would be out of his hands as soon as he took it to the police. He’d still hoped he could at least be there when they made the arrest, or maybe step in now and then to consult on things, or... However, Simon had been adamant; he didn’t want Roth anywhere near, at any step of the operation. Roth had finally promised to go home, stay out of it, and talk to no one, not even his boss. 

Simon, in his turn, had promised to keep him informed. 

Roth supposed he had no other choice than to put the whole thing aside, wait for Simon to call, and hope the police could handle it, no matter how he was itching to butt in.

Besides, as annoyed as he was at the whole thing being taken out of his hands, he was at the same time relieved the decision about informing Nickel had been taken with it. It was no longer _his_ fault that he was keeping stuff from his boss, was it?


	44. The Felling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular commenter, and creator of several nice fanart sketches for this fic, [PaxterHobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) has branched out from Fanfic into Original fic. She posted the first chapter of her first foray into Original slavefic here: [The Best Gift Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899446/chapters/60250384). She also gifted the fic to me - awww, thank you. I'm positively chuffed :-) - and I'm linking it back. Go have a look!
> 
> /Fran

Walking into Nickel’s gym around noon, Roth expected it to be empty, but he was wrong again. Taven was there.

Roth halted in the doorway for a moment, watching the boy. Taven was really doing his best beating the shit out of that punching bag, hitting it repeatedly as hard as he possibly could with those stick-arms of his. Seemed the boy hadn’t given up on the training. Well, Roth thought, raising an eyebrow at Taven growling in anger every time he drove his knuckles into the bag, the slave probably had a bigger reason to beat out his frustrations than any of them had. 

“You’re learning, boy,” Roth shouted, since Taven had obviously not heard him come inside. 

Taven startled violently and scrambled to the other side of the punching bag, holding it between them, as if he thought he needed some kind of protection against him. When Roth walked into the room, the boy walked around the bag, keeping it between them, peering around it with suspicious eyes. 

Roth shook his head, putting down his duffel bag on the floor. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” he said. “Go on!”

“I… I was done anyway,” Taven answered, and turned to leave, half-running toward the entry. 

“Hold on!” Roth ordered.

Taven froze just inches before the door but didn’t turn around.

“Are you just gonna leave with your hands still wrapped, and without cleaning up after yourself? Didn’t your master teach you some gym manners?” he said to the boy’s back.

Taven hunched his shoulders and shook, in defiant anger or fear, Roth couldn’t tell, but he obeyed. Without a word, he walked back and tidied things up with jerky hurried movements, looking like he couldn’t wait to get out of Roth’s presence. 

Roth wasn’t going to give him this relief, not just yet anyway. He’d gotten an idea. While Taven cleaned up, he sat down on the nearest bench and when the boy was done, Roth told him to take a seat beside him. 

Taven somewhat got the look of a trapped animal. “What for?” he murmured, staying right where he was. 

Roth had just about had it with Taven’s attitude. What had he done to deserve the constant suspicion? Nothing, that’s what. “Don’t talk back, slave!” he growled. “Just do as you’re fucking told!” 

Taven sure didn’t react with the eagerness befitting a well-mannered slave, but he did obey at this sharp reprimand, sitting down with as much room between them as the seat allowed. The boy fidgeted in obvious discomfort and stubbornly stared at his feet.

Roth couldn’t help it, he was still annoyed with Taven, which was probably the reason he started this conversation in a completely different way than he’d meant to. “You know,” he said. “The day before yesterday, I went back to the slave market where Nickel got you.” 

Taven visibly tensed up. “What?” he gasped. “Why… Why’d you go there, Mr. Roth?”

“Funny”, Roth answered. “That’s exactly what the trader wanted to know. He thought I’d come to _return_ you.”

Taven paled, pressed his arms against his stomach, and looked like he was about to double over and throw up all over the floor. 

Roth immediately wished he could have taken back those words. Had he just said that only to rattle the boy? In that case, he was a big, immature, petty asshole. Yeah, the boy had a shitty attitude, but it didn’t mean he should scare the kid to fucking death. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. That’s what the trader thought, but he was wrong. Nickel doesn’t even know I’ve been there.”

“That true, Mr. Roth?” the boy asked, still clasping at his stomach, his voice shaky.

“Yeah, it’s true, I swear,” Roth assured him. “Nickel would never take you back to that place, and neither would I. I only went there to get information on Swift.”

Taven closed his eyes and exhaled. 

“I did get to know some interesting stuff,” Roth continued, but hesitated to say more. 

Simon had ordered him not to talk to anyone about this, but technically speaking he’d meant any _free_ person, right? Surely, someone like Taven didn’t count. Besides, now that there had finally been a breakthrough, Roth found it increasingly hard to sit on the sidelines. He could still try to find out stuff, he thought, and once Swift was in custody more evidence couldn’t be a bad thing. Anything to make sure the bastard was put away as long as possible. 

Yeah, screw keeping quiet. Now that he knew what to ask, he wanted to know what the boy might have witnessed. 

“Taven,” he started. “When you were still in the South End, did Swift ever use drugs?”

“All the time,” Taven answered.

“Did he have you use it, too?”

Taven shook his head. “That shit’s expensive and all, he would’ve never wasted it on me. Besides, he wanted me to feel stuff.”

“Feel stuff?” 

“Yeah, you know, some shit, like, makes you don’t feel much pain, or much of anything. You don’t know what the fuck is going on, you know, and he wanted me to… feel… stuff…”

That fucking bastard, Roth thought. He couldn’t wait until he was locked away. “Okay,” he said. “You saw him use it himself, but did you ever see him _selling_ it?”

Taven looked like he was thinking hard. “I don’t know. Maybe. I… I think so.”

“Did you see him sell it to someone in particular? Do you know who they were? Would you recognize them? Think, boy; it’s important!”

“I don’t know, Mr. Roth,” Taven repeated. “I don’t fucking know. It was always so… He always chained me up in the bathroom, when they weren’t, like, fucking the shit out of me, and I was so tired, and it wasn’t like he ever told me anything, and, there was people coming and going all the time, and… I don’t know what he did when he wasn’t using me, and… I’m sorry, I don’t _know_, I don’t remember, I…”

Again, Roth could have kicked himself. He wasn’t going to get anything useful out of the boy like this. He was only scaring him and forcing him to relive past traumas. Pressuring the poor thing like this wasn’t worth it. 

He scooted closer and put a comforting hand on Taven’s shoulder. “It’s all right, boy,” he said. “I understand. How could you know?”

Taven still looked stressed, but at least he wasn’t trying to get away from him.

“Why is it important, Sir?” he asked. 

“Because selling drugs is illegal, don’t you know that? If we can prove he’s selling drugs, Swift will go to prison.”

Taven sat up straight and turned to Roth for the first time. “For real, now?” he said. “I say he’s selling drugs, and he goes to prison?” 

Roth shook his head. “It isn’t that easy, I’m afraid. We need evidence, not just someone’s word, and a slave’s testimony isn’t admissible in a court of law in any case. No, he won’t go to prison only because you say he’s selling drugs, but if you could have remembered any particular persons he sold to, knew their names, I could have found them and maybe have the evidence in other ways.”

Taven looked troubled now. “I really, really don’t know, Mr. Roth,” he said. 

“…and I don’t demand you should,” Roth said. “I only took a chance you might have heard or seen something. It’s not your fault. I get it, you were busy enough trying to survive. Don’t worry, Taven, I’m already on it. We’ll get that bastard anyway.”

Taven didn’t answer. Imagining Swift going down was probably too weird to process. 

“There’s one thing you _can_ do for me, though,” Roth said. “Don’t tell your master we talked about this!”

Taven frowned. “Why?”

“You remember I told you outside the mall, about how your master wants Swift in prison? Well, as I said, I’m on it, but I don’t want Nickel to know about it until I’m sure it’s gonna go the way he wants it to. You get what I mean?”

Taven nodded in all seriousness. “Yeah, he’ll be disappointed,” he said. 

Roth was relieved. The kid got it. “Exactly, and we don’t want to make him disappointed, do we? Let’s just keep all this between you and me, for now, okay? We’ll tell him everything later.”

“Okay, Mr. Roth,” Taven said, nodding. 

“Great!” Roth patted the boy’s back. “I know I can trust you,” he said. He wasn’t at all sure he could, but seeing as he’d already spoken too much, he hardly had a choice. “Now, you weren’t really done beating the shit out of that punching bag when I walked in, were you?” he asked.

Taven seemed embarrassed. “Um, no, I had kinda just started.”

Roth grinned. “Well, why don’t we work out together today then? You don’t mind us being ‘gym buddies’, do you?”

“I guess not, Mr. Roth,” Taven said. 

“Good,” Roth said, smiling at the boy. “Let’s get to it then!” 

Getting a smile in return was probably expecting too much, and he didn’t, but at least Taven seemed considerably less disturbed by his presence. He walked back to the punching bag, rewrapped his hands, and resumed his training without further suspicious glares. 

Roth reached for his duffel bag and pulled at the zipper. At least Nickel would be pleased if he would finally ‘make friends’ with the kid.

\-----o0o-----

An hour or so later, Nickel stuck his head through the door, looking surprised, but very pleased indeed, to see them both working out together. “Well, good afternoon to you, Roth. I never noticed you coming in,” he said, grinning like the sun.

“Oh, I’ve found me a new gym buddy now,” Roth joked. “So, I just went right ahead and ignored you.”

“I see,” Nickel said with a laugh. He turned to Taven. “Are you done? Good. Go take a shower; we’re leaving in half an hour.”

“So, where’re you off to?” Roth asked, reaching for a towel, watching Taven leave the gym.

“Oh, waking up this morning, I just felt like shopping for something new to wear,” Nickel answered. “I thought I’d take Taven with me to the mall. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to come. I know you hate it.”

“You’re going to the mall? I’ll come.”

“Really? You need a new neck tie?”

Roth rolled his eyes in jest. “No, and seeing as you have about two thousand of them, neither do you. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone through a drastic personality change, I still hate shopping, but… New rule: from now on, I consider the mall an unsafe area. I’d rather you not go there alone anymore.”

Nickel rolled his eyes right back at him. “Yes, dad,” he said. “Well, you’d better hit the shower, too, then. Half an hour,” he reminded him.

\-----o0o-----

They took one of the mansion’s smaller cars, leaving Roth’s behind.

Roth asked Nickel to take a detour, swinging by his place, so he could get his license. He hadn’t expected anything else than using Nickel’s gym today and had left it at home. Going anywhere with Nickel, Roth tried to make sure to have it on him even if he wasn’t officially working. In case something happened and he had to use some kind of force to protect his boss, he wanted to be able to prove he was a bodyguard if the police showed up. Not that he expected anything to happen today, but the one time you were sloppy with stuff like that… 

His boss didn’t mind the extra driving, and Roth was only a few minutes, while Nickel waited with Taven in the car outside his apartment building, and then they were off to the mall.

\-----o0o-----

Roth tried to hide yet another yawn. Nickel seemed to go through every damn piece of clothing in the fancy ‘boutique’ – what was wrong with ‘store’ or ‘shop’, damn it – on the exclusive top floor of the mall. Absentmindedly Roth pulled at a t-shirt next to him and checked the price tag. _Sixty Taler_. Were they fucking kidding? He shoved it back in place on the rack.

It was somewhat ironic how Nickel probably thought he was ‘slumming it’ going to the mall like a ‘regular person’. The bespoke suits the young lord sometimes wore, for example, would be much more expensive than anything they offered here. Yet, many lower class people could never afford to shop on this floor.

Well, bespoke _or_ retail, Nickel’s interest in fashion was something they _didn’t_ share, that’s for sure. Taven might agree with him, Roth thought, amused. The boy stayed behind his master, looking every bit as bored. 

For about the hundredth time Nickel demanded his attention, holding up two shirts in his face. 

“What do you think?” he said. “I can’t decide on the color.”

Roth moaned. “Um, Nickel... They’re both blue.”

Nickel shook his head. “Sometimes, I fear you’re actually colorblind,” he said. “It’s not at all the same kind of blue.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure your eyes will go splendidly with both, so why don’t you just buy…”

Their banter was abruptly cut short by a sudden and loud scream right behind them, making them both jump and spin around.

Nickel’s face immediately scrunched up in a disapproving frown. “Serenity? What on earth are you doing?” 

It was Serenity all right, and though the blond slave’s face seemed a perfect representation of complete and utter innocence, it was still clear he’d just done _something_ to make Taven squeal like a terrorized piglet. 

Roth shook his head.

“Me?” Serenity asked. “Nothing, Master, I was only…”

“He fucking sneaked up on me and grabbed me from behind,” Taven cut in. He turned to Serenity. “You fucking _asshole_!” he yelled, looking like he was about to give the tall slave the same treatment he’d given the punching bag earlier. 

Nickel also seemed to think there was a risk Taven would actually jump Serenity. He acted fast, threw an arm around the boy’s waist, pulled him close, grabbed one of his wrists and simply pushed the boy’s hand down his own jacket pocket. 

Whatever he kept in there, it had the strangest effect on Taven. The boy turned quiet and still in an instant, though his eyes still glowed with anger. 

“Jesus, Taven,” Serenity said, drawing back in indignation at the near attack. “It was only a joke.”

“It ain’t fucking _funny_,” Taven yelled.

“Taven, be quiet!” Nickel ordered. “And you!” He turned to Serenity. “Taven is right, this isn’t funny. You really should know better.”

Serenity looked at them all in turn, and three pairs of disapproving eyes must have convinced him of the truth in this. He finally had the decency to look at least somewhat ashamed. “I apologize,” he said. “Taven, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, it really only was a silly joke. I’m sorry, Master. I’ll never do that again.”

“You had better not,” Nickel said. “What are you doing here? Are you on your own?”

“Ah, yes,” Serenity answered. “Master Constantine gives me my own money these days. He’s tired of taking me shopping.” 

Nickel gave him a suspicious look. “Constantine gave _you_ a slave pass?” 

“Oh yes,” Serenity said without hesitation, his angelic face still innocence personified. 

Yeah, Roth thought. That answer had just been _too_ devoid of hesitation, somehow, hadn’t it.

Nickel didn’t look like he believed it either, but for whatever reason he didn’t push it, or demanded to see the pass. “Well, do your shopping then!” he said. “And leave us to ours.”

With these words, his boss simply turned his back on Serenity and pulled Taven along, going deeper into the store. Roth meant to follow, but Serenity stepped in his way.

The slave gave him a respectful, but not very deep, bow. Fully adequate for a commoner, Roth supposed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Roth,” he said. Infallibly polite, smiling. 

Roth only murmured an ‘uh, yeah, hi’ in reply. There was something in that smile, he thought, something in how the slave’s eyes glimmered… Roth always had the distinct feeling Serenity was flirting with him whenever they happened to cross paths, which, thank goodness, wasn’t often these days. 

“Well,” Roth quickly continued, before Serenity had a chance to say anything else. “I should probably, you know, do my job.” He waved his hand in the general direction Nickel had gone. 

“Certainly, Mr. Roth,” Serenity said with another short bow, his smile not faltering for a second. As polite as before, he stepped out of Roth’s way.

Walking over to Nickel, Roth tried to shake off the unease. Serenity made him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t at all conceit on his part. He wasn’t the vain type; he damn well had a good reason to feel this way.

One evening, only a few weeks into Nickel’s relationship with Serenity, Roth had found himself alone with the blond slave in a lounge back at the Wren Mansion. To his utter surprise Serenity had simply slid up against him, appreciatively running a light finger up his bicep, and fucking straight up told him such a man as Roth he’d gladly ‘serve’ any time. He only had to say the word. 

Roth wasn't offended by the offer in itself, gay men had hit on him before, but Nickel had been _in love_ with this guy. As soon as Nickel turned his back, Serenity blatantly hit on his lover’s best friend? Roth found such behavior despicable. He had firmly shoved Serenity away, informing him he was ‘barking up the wrong tree’. 

It was true, after all. Roth was as straight as the proverbial doornail, and really wouldn’t have been interested in any case. However, rather than causing a scene, that, without a doubt, would have hurt Nickel, he’d preferred discreetly rejecting Serenity’s advances, referring to this fact only. The slave had taken the hint, and had never done, or said, anything even remotely similar again. 

The guy still _looked_ at him as if he was a huge Popsicle the slave couldn’t wait to lick.

Sometimes he wondered if it had been such a good idea not to tell Nickel about the incident. Maybe it would have saved his friend some heartache if he’d understood sooner what Serenity was like. However, Roth _had_ kept quiet about it, and a few months later Nickel had broken up the relationship anyway. He really hadn’t wanted to add insult to injury at the time, and the more time that passed, the more unnecessary it seemed to bring it up. To this day, Roth had never mentioned it. 

Nickel had picked out another shirt in the meantime and was holding it in front of Taven instead of himself. “You’d look great in this,” he remarked, smiling at the boy and pushing a strand of red hair out of his face. 

Roth grinned. Nickel might have finally gotten over Serenity, and he was sure it was why his boss had gone to the slave market in the first place. Well, he wouldn’t say Nickel had deliberately and fully consciously actually tried to _buy_ himself some love and closeness, but subconsciously… Yeah, Nickel had probably not realized it himself, but of course, that’s what he’d really been after, a replacement for Serenity. 

If he would be honest, Roth wasn’t so sure Taven would be much better for his friend than Serenity. He guessed the boy wouldn’t cheat on him, though, if only because Nickel had better control over the redhead. 

Well, Nickel’s messy love life wasn’t any of his business. His friend wanted to talk about stuff; sure, Roth would be there, but far would it be from him to butt in otherwise. 

Roth had been rather surprised when he’d first discovered his boss ‘swung both ways’. Nickel had never been one to see a new woman every week – though he sure as hell could have, as good-looking, and not least, rich, as he was – but Roth had still only ever seen him date _women_. Until that day, a little over eighteen months ago, when Roth had happened to run into Nickel in the gardens, pressed up against a tree, his legs wrapped around the waist of what was obviously Lord Constantine Engel’s favorite slave, fiercely kissing him. 

It had been an awkward and embarrassing moment. Roth had stammered an apology, turned on his heels and walked away in a hurry. He had really thought Nickel borrowed Serenity only to attend him. That his boss craved being ‘attended’ to in _that_ way, by a _man_, was a possibility that had never occurred to him. 

After only a few minutes Nickel had come running to catch up with him, and it had struck Roth how scared he’d looked. Obviously, he’d deliberately kept his interest in men a secret to his bodyguard and friend. Roth had assured him it was nothing. He hadn’t left in disgust, or anything, he’d only been embarrassed at having caught them in an intimate moment. He didn’t give a fuck about who, or what, his boss slept with. How could it ever matter to either their working relationship, or their friendship, if Nickel now and then got the hots for a guy? 

There was no mistaking it how relieved Nickel had been to hear this, and in a way Roth had been, too. Growing up, Roth had never had a friend who was gay or bisexual, and it wasn’t really something he’d thought much about. He’d always thought of himself as a fairly progressive and tolerant person, though he’d probably not been free from prejudices. However, now when someone he was close to stood before him, his secret exposed, worrying what would happen to their friendship, Roth had realized he was telling the truth. He simply didn’t care. 

Roth smiled again, watching Nickel dote over Taven. What had been such a surprising revelation one and a half year ago had become the most natural thing in the world. 

Damn if he’d ever get used to these fucking ‘boutiques’, though.

“_I_ think he’d look much better in _this_.”A voice behind them butted in, interrupting Roth’s musings.

Serenity, again. He seemed hell bent on them not ignoring him, didn’t he? 

The tall slave held up a tiny, tight, low-cut top in some kind of shimmery dark green fabric before Nickel, nodding toward Taven with an expectant smile. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Taven muttered beside him, and Roth was inclined to agree. Surely that was a woman’s top? 

For a fleeting moment it looked like Nickel would actually consider the top, but then he shook his head. “I don’t think that is an appropriate item, Serenity,” he said. “Speaking of appropriate… How did you get here?”

“Uh?” Serenity said.

“How did you get here? Who took you if Constantine didn’t? Did Lady Portia suddenly take an interest in your wardrobe? Did Constantine lend you his chauffeur? Did you take the bus?”

Nickel’s inquiries might have been unexpected enough for Serenity to temporarily lose his ability to lie on the spot. “Um, I drove here,” he admitted. 

“You took the white sports car here? So, in the last year you haven’t only managed to convince your master to give you your own money _and_ issue you a slave pass for the complete downtown area, but also let you take a driver’s license? You must have been very good lately.”

For a few heartbeats, Nickel and Serenity did nothing but stare at each other. Nickel still looked like he waited for an answer, while Serenity had an expression of almost panic on his face. At one point, Roth could have sworn Serenity was silently mouthing the word ‘please’ several times, but then the blond slave cracked a sudden wide smile, as if this strange interaction hadn’t taken place at all.

“Well, would you look at the time,” he said, though no one, certainly not Serenity, had looked at any watch or clock anywhere. “I really have to run. Master Constantine will miss me.” He threw the green top over the nearest rack, and started to retreat, giving them all a carefree goodbye wave on the go. “Mr. Roth. Taven, I’ll see _you_ soon again. Master…” Then he simply turned and hurried out the store with long strides.

“I guess he _hasn’t_ gotten a driver’s license since last?” Roth remarked.

Nickel still watched the entry where Serenity had disappeared, a worried frown on his face. “Most likely not. Roth, you think this is my doing?”

“Your doing?” Roth had no idea what his boss was talking about.

“Yes! Serenity was never overly mindful of the rules, but he didn’t use to take risks like this. However, since you and I took him out… Well, we might inadvertently have taught him how to ‘get about’. Constantine gave him that car as a toy only and he would never let him drive it anywhere outside the dirt roads in the woods between our lands. Maybe I did this.” 

“Nah,” Roth said. “Say what you want about that slave, but he’s no fool. I’d say he very much has the brains, and is bored enough, to come up with stuff like that all on his own. He isn’t your responsibility in any case, Nickel.”

“I suppose not.” Nickel agreed. 

“Are you gonna tell Lord Engel?”

Nickel hesitated. “Well, I don’t really want to get Serenity in trouble. Hopefully, knowing I’m on to him will put an end to these excursions.” 

“Yeah, if he’s smart, it will,” Roth agreed.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel seemed to have lost his shopping mood, Roth noticed. He paid for the items he’d picked out and suggested they go back to the mansion. It was soon time for dinner anyway.

When they walked across the parking lot, Roth’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at it. It was Chief Inspector Simon. Could something have happened this soon already? Roth excused himself and stepped out of earshot to take the call. 

His boss was waiting by the car with Taven when he joined them a few minutes later. “Uh,” Roth said. “That was Marita, she… She wants me to come over right away, to… She wants to talk with me, and… Well, I’ll just go over there, and you go back without me, okay?” 

Damn it, Roth thought, he should ask Serenity for a course on ’lying on your feet’, though he supposed it was easier if you were born already looking like an _actual_ fucking angel.

Nickel looked concerned. “Oh? Is she all right? Is it something with the children? I’ll take you,”

“No!” Roth said. “No, sis is all right, and the kids too. She isn’t sick or anything. It’s not that kind of emergency, it’s just… It’s… It’s kind of personal. You don’t have to take me; I’ll take the bus, no worries. You go home and have dinner, and I’ll get the car tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right, if you’re sure…”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I gotta run. I’ll call you later, okay?” Roth forced a smile he hoped looked natural and waved goodbye to them both on the go, hurrying away across the parking lot before Nickel had a chance to ask him any more of those uncomfortable questions. 

He cursed to himself as he walked downtown instead of taking the bus to see his sister. Simon had wanted him to come down to the precinct so they could take his fingerprints. They needed them to rule out his prints on the zip-bagged drugs, and apparently, they needed them right away. Roth had asked Simon why the hell they couldn’t have taken his prints when he was down there yesterday anyway, if they were in such a damn hurry. The young Chief Inspector had answered he’d been sure they had them already, and was very surprised to learn they didn’t. Roth couldn’t tell if the man had been joking or not – he’d envisioned the baby-faced chief’s amused smile as they spoke – but he sure hadn’t joked about wanting it done now, only… Well, he couldn’t tell Nickel that, could he? 

Roth cursed again. Simply not telling Nickel about the plans for the time being was one thing, but he really hadn’t expected to have to lie right in his friend’s face. He felt like shit. 

The police had better _not_ fuck up these plans.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel got in behind the wheel, throwing the shopping bags in the backseat, but he didn’t immediately buckle up and start the car.

He turned to Taven, who struggled to adjust the seat after the much larger bodyguard had used it. “Did you notice how strange Roth behaved just now?” he asked the boy.

Taven only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, reaching for the seatbelt. 

“Well,” Nickel persisted. “You don’t know him like I do, and I’m telling you there’s something strange going on. I do hope his sister is all right. They are very close, you know.”

Taven still looked like he really didn’t know what to say about the whole thing. Nickel shook his head in concern. If Roth had family problems, he supposed it wasn’t his business, though of course he’d be there if his friend wanted to confide in him. “I guess we’ll go home then,” he said, sticking his hand in the jacket pocket for the car keys. 

He immediately felt something was wrong. Nickel always kept his wallet and his keys in the same pocket, and though the keys _were_ there, the wallet wasn’t. “Damn it!” he swore, patting himself over and twisting in the seat to reach for the bags. The wallet wasn’t in another pocket and not in any of the shopping bags either. “Taven,” he said. “Did I give you my wallet to hold?”

Taven patted himself over as well. “No, Master,” he said. “I ain’t got it.”

“Oh, damn!” he swore again. He’d lost his wallet, or, someone in the crowd back there had stolen it. Those pickpockets were good, he’d heard. Someone ‘accidentally’ brushing up against you on the narrow escalator, and it would be gone, you’d never even notice. 

He sighed deeply. It wasn’t the money, but cancelling all his cards, and wait weeks to get a new driver’s license... Nickel had lost his wallet once before, and it was just such a nuisance. 

“Master,” Taven said. “I think you left it in the store.”

“Are you sure?” Nickel asked, hope returning.

“No,” Taven admitted. “But I think you did.”

Nickel thought about it. It was possible he’d put the wallet down on the counter, paying for the shirts. He might not have picked it up again. The sales clerk _had_ been a rather distracting girl, talking a lot, trying to flirt with him.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go back and ask for it.”

\-----o0o-----

The girl behind the counter smiled widely and waved the wallet in the air as soon as they stepped over the threshold. “You came back, Sir,” she said. “I was holding it for you, and not a nickel is missing... Uh, I mean, it’s all here, Sir, and I was just about to look for your phone number, when... ”

Nickel walked up to the counter and snatched the wallet out of her hand. She’d obviously checked it out, noted his less than conventional given name, and was now embarrassed she’d inadvertently ‘joked’ about it. 

He pretended not to notice. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m most grateful. I seem to be a bit absentminded today.” 

She answered he was surely not and he cut her assurances short by quickly fishing up fifty Taler out of his recovered wallet and handing it to her. 

“Oh, Sir, you really don’t have to…”

“Only a small token of my gratitude,” Nickel said, already walking away. He heard her still thanking him when he stepped out the entry doors. 

“Well, aren’t we lucky today?” Nickel said as they rode the escalator down to the ground floor again, relieved it had been so easy to find his wallet. There was no answer behind him, but, as soon as he stepped out onto the flagstones below, Taven grabbed his arm and jerked him to a sudden stop.

That a slave, any slave, would grab a hold of him, and halt him in his tracks was such an inconceivably strange thing to happen, that for a moment Nickel simply went along when Taven promptly followed this up with trying to pull him in another direction. “We can’t go that way, Master,” the boy said. “Don’t go that way, please.”

Nickel finally snapped out of it, drew them both to a stop and angrily tore his arm out of Taven’s hands. What on earth was the matter with the boy? “What are you doing?” he hissed. “You do _not_…”

“Please, Master,” Taven interrupted. “Can’t we go out another entry, please?”

Nickel was confounded. The boy seemed desperate he’d listen, and looked so scared… No, more than scared... _terrified_. What the…? Then it struck him. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Nickel asked. “Swift, he’s here, isn’t he?”

“No,” Taven said. “He ain’t. He ain’t here, Master, I swear. Can’t we just go another way, Master, _please_.”

Nickel ignored him. He turned around, looking out across the wide floors, scanning the area in front the nearest entry, trying to spot a large man in the crowds who could be Swift. He couldn’t immediately see someone who would fit the description Roth had once given him, but Taven was obviously lying, so Swift must still be about. He spun around once again, grabbing Taven by his upper arms. “Show me who he is!” he ordered. 

The boy clamped his mouth shut and vigorously shook his head, looking like he would start to cry any second. 

“Taven,” Nickel warned. “I want you to obey your master, do you hear? Now, show me who the man is!”

“No, Master.” Taven still dared protest. “You- you don’t get it. He’s gonna beat the shit out of you. He’s too big. Master, please.”

Through it all, Nickel couldn’t help the warmth in his chest. Taven wasn’t only scared for himself. “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to comfort the boy. “Nothing will happen to any of us. Swift can’t do anything to me, don’t you see, not here in the middle of the mall with hundreds of witnesses. I only want to know who he is. Point him out to me!”

Taven still hesitated, but finally he reached out with a shaky hand and pointed. Nickel turned and looked, and, yes, close to the entry, there was a hot dog cart, and ordering a serving, was a tall man with cropped hair and combat boots. A large man, built somewhat like Roth... 

Swift. 

“Now, you listen to me, slave,” Nickel said, turning back once more. “You will stay right here, you hear? Do not move an inch before I come for you. Do I make myself clear?”

Taven nodded; his eyes huge and scared.

Walking up to Swift, Nickel had no idea what he meant to do. Maybe he only wanted to see the man he’d learned to hate so much up close. Maybe he’d meant to introduce himself, letting Swift know who really owned Taven, and tell him what he thought of him. Get it out of his system.

Well, whatever he’d meant to do, Nickel didn’t do anything but simply standing there, right beside Swift, staring at the man, his face twisting into a grimace of utter disgust. It seemed to him he was looking at the ugliest human being he’d ever seen. Now, some part of him might have admitted Swift was actually a man of average looks, who was neither particularly handsome, nor spectacularly hideous, but at that moment Nickel wasn’t capable of this sort of objectivity. He knew the _inner_ ugliness of this man.

It didn’t take long before Swift noticed someone was invading his personal space. He turned his head and locked eyes with Nickel, frowning. “What the fuck are you staring at?” he growled, holding up a half-eaten sausage. “Hey, weirdo, I’m talking to you. What’s your _fucking_ problem?”

Nickel saw lips moving, but didn’t register the words. Instead, there was a strange soughing pulse beat in his ears, and the sound of someone crying in his head. Taven. Taven crying in his arms, telling him all the awful things Swift had done to him. Taven, crying and begging him not to put him in a hole full of rats. Taven wetting his bed, Taven’s body, scars… Scars everywhere and large, crude letters carved into the skin of a child. ‘Whore’, ‘whore’, ‘whore’…

“Hey, fucker…” Swift, yelled, but Nickel didn't allow him to finish his angry demand at attention. 

Nickel didn’t even realize he’d stepped into position until he found himself in the middle of a viper-fast round kick, and his heel connected with Swift’s face.

A human face was nothing like a heavy punching bag filled with sand, Nickel realized. He could literally feel Swift’s nose cave in on impact. The man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he went down like a felled tree, unconscious before he even hit the floor. 

Nickel stared at the body lying on its back at his feet. It was as if all his senses were acutely sharpened. The blood gushing out of Swift’s face looked unnaturally red and the crunchy sound of the nose breaking still echoed in his ears. He was shocked, and yet, so calm. He didn’t feel regret; in fact, he didn’t feel bad at what he’d done at all, shocked, yes, but not bad, not in the least. 

He was only slowly aware of the upheaval around him, people yelling and running up to them, and it started to sink in how what he’d just done would actually look like to any normal bystander. It would seem as if a lunatic had just, entirely unprovoked, kicked a complete stranger in the face, in the middle of hundreds of witnesses.

The world became a very real place again.


	45. Abandoned

Taven stared at the scene in front of him in complete and utter incredulity.

He’d been all but paralyzed with fear, helplessly watching his master walk up to Swift. Taven had expected the worst, seeing a beaten and bloodied Nickel before his inner eye with ever-rising dread. He didn’t want the man to get hurt, and if Swift beat his master senseless, or even killed him, then what would become of him? 

His master wasn’t the one who had ended up beaten and bloody on the floor, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

It was the best fucking thing, ever. His master had kicked Swift in the face, as if it had been nothing, and something happened when the beast crashed to the floor. Something changed when he saw blood pouring from the man’s face. His master had made the all-powerful monster of his nightmares human, turned an invincible force into something that could be hurt and defeated. 

No legal papers could have made him feel freer at that moment. Taven felt elated, as if he spread his arms, he could float up and soar under the high ceiling. 

That feeling didn’t last long. The yells around him soon pulled Taven back into reality. People ran past him, and then the guards came, soon followed by the police. It was all so confusing. People shouted and crowded the scene, white-dressed men came to crouch down around Swift, and the police officers pulled at his master, who protested wildly and pointed in his direction. 

Taven snapped out of his stupor and ran to his master, but he never reached him. The medical people pushed him aside, and in the next second both the police and his master were gone, and he couldn’t see them anywhere. The blue lights on an ambulance just outside the large glass doors blinked in his eyes, and Swift was wheeled past him on a gurney. Taven saw one of his legs moving. 

Wasn't he dead? He’d looked dead.

As sudden as the commotion had started, it ended. Curious onlookers started to walk away, the man with the hot dogs moved his cart, and newly arrived customers, walking through the entry doors, avoided the dark red puddle with wide eyes, careful not to step in it. 

If it wasn’t for the blood, you might think nothing had happened. 

This was when Taven realized it didn’t matter who had ended up on the floor. For him, the immediate result was the same. He was abandoned. 

Fear gripped him. He’d been left behind in a place full of free people, any of which could do what they wanted with him now, and no one would help him. The floor seemed to sway under his feet, making him dizzy and nauseated. Weren’t everybody looking at him? Didn’t people who passed glance at him out of the corner of their eyes and whisper to each other? A small kid tugged at his father’s sleeve and fucking pointed straight at him. 

Taven turned and crashed through the entry doors. Desperate to find a safe place to hide, he ran across the parking lot, crisscrossing between the parked vehicles, trying to locate the small red car from the mansion. He couldn’t find it. Where the fuck had Nickel parked it? He couldn’t remember, and every other car seemed to be red but no one was the right one. 

Panic threatening, he gave up the fruitless search and fled the parking lot, running along a heavily trafficked street until he ran out of breath and had to stop. Taven leaned against a concrete wall, breathing heavily, and slid down along it to sit on the dirty pavement. His legs felt like jelly and he was shaking all over, he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them tight. He didn’t know where he was, where he could go, or what he should do, and he was so fucking scared he wanted to throw up. 

There wasn’t much use in going back to the mall to try to find the car again, he realized. His master had locked it; he couldn’t get in to hide. He should probably still go back and stay _by_ the car, Taven thought, or Nickel wouldn’t be able to find him when he came back. However, he simply didn’t dare to. There were too much people back there. Besides, _the police_ had taken his master, maybe Nickel wouldn’t come back. 

He should go back to the mansion then, but… how. The house was miles away. Walking there would take all day, he thought, at least. He looked about, having no idea if this street, or any other, led outside the city, or in which direction he should even start walking. He hugged himself even tighter, Taven might have lived here all his life, but this wasn’t _his_ city. He didn’t know a fucking thing about how to get around in it. 

Sitting there, his desperation and sense of hopelessness growing, fighting his tears, he eventually became aware of something that turned up before his eyes at regular intervals between the cars going by. Something he slowly realized could help him. There was a fucking _phone booth_ at the other side of the street. 

Taven sprang to his feet. Yes, of course, all he had to do was to contact Mr. Roth, and the bodyguard would help him. He barely managed to avoid the cars in his eagerness to cross the street and excitedly jerked open the door to the phone booth. Mr. Roth would know what to do and would just fix everything, if only he could reach him. 

This hope was quite thoroughly crushed as soon as he stepped inside the booth and realized how stupid he was. How the hell could he call Mr. Roth? He had no idea what his number was, and even if he did, you needed money to use a phone like this, and he, of course, didn’t have any. 

Taven would have sunk to the floor weeping if he hadn’t spotted the sign above the phone. It was old and faded, mounted behind a piece of scratched plastic, someone having sprayed graffiti over it, but you could still read it. In large letters, the sign informed him emergency calls were free and then it gave him the number. Hope returned. If this wasn’t an emergency, then what was? He’d call this number, and… Well, he had no idea who he would get on the line calling an emergency number or what he would say, but he’d think of something. He’d ask them to contact Mr. Roth for him, he thought, and they’d listen; he was sure. They couldn’t see he was a slave over the phone, right? They’d listen. 

He grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear, thanking his master for forcing him to learn how to read. Who’d ever thought you could actually have some fucking use for that. 

...there was no dial tone.

Annoyed, Taven put the receiver back and lifted it again, still no tone. Frantically, he pushed every button on the phone, but it stayed dead. Fear and desperation completely took him over at this unexpected setback, and he didn’t even realize he’d started to bang the receiver against the phone, yelling uncontrollably, wanting to fucking _kill_ it for not working, until… 

Someone grabbed his wrist.

“Hey! Hey, kid, what are you doing? Are you nuts, vandalizing stuff in broad daylight where anyone can see you?” 

He nearly peed himself at the angry voice and sudden grab. He looked up at the hand holding his arm up. It was a dark sleeve with a row of shiny brass buttons. The receiver fell out of his limp fingers. A police officer… 

Taven freaked. 

Yelling and screaming, he squirmed like a worm on a fisher’s hook, kicking and twisting, trying to get out of the hard grip. It didn’t do him any good at all, the narrow booth giving him no space to fight. The police officer cursed, pressed him against the glass wall and easily wrenched his arms behind his back, cuffing him. Ignoring his panicky yelling and twisting, the police officer dragged him out of the booth and simply threw him into the backseat of a police car parked at the side of the street, slamming the door on him. 

Taven squirmed and twisted on the seat to get up in a sitting position, frantically looking about. There was wire mesh between the back and the front seat, and there was no way to open the doors that he could detect. He was trapped.

The police officer opened the front door and Taven could see how he put down both his club and his gun in the seat, before closing it again, and reaching for the backdoor instead. 

Taven couldn’t help it, when the police officer got into the backseat beside him and closed the door, he whimpered in pure and unadulterated fear. He knew he couldn’t get away, but when the man reached for him, he still tried, squirming to avoid the hand and pressing himself against the door. 

“Easy, kid,” the man said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only going to…” The police officer carefully pushed his hair out of the way, put a hand to his cheek and turned his head, lightly fingering his marked ear. “Yep, that’s what I thought. You have nice clothes, but there aren’t many free kids walking about with hair like yours, is there?” 

Taven squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, and tried to brace himself for what was coming. 

The police officer stopped touching him. “Relax, kid! I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. See? I put my gun away and everything. Calm down! I’m not going to do anything ‘bad’ to you.” 

Taven opened his eyes again, looking at the police officer in suspicion. Yeah, he didn’t believe that for a second.

The man smiled at him. “Not gonna believe me, are you? Yeah, didn’t think so. I suppose most of you have no reason to, but… Believe me, I have no ‘interest’ in boys like you, but you were vandalizing stuff, slave, and I had do to my job, and stop you, you understand?” 

Taven didn’t answer.

“So,” the police officer continued. “You have a slave pass issued for this area, boy?”

A slave pass? He still didn’t’ answer. His master had asked Serenity the same, but Taven had no idea what it was. 

“That’s what I thought,” the police officer said. “They almost never give one to kids like you, do they? Not really supposed to stray far from the bedroom anyway, right? Poor sods. So, you’re on the run then, are you?”

Taven’s eyes widened. Not until now did it dawn on him just _how_ bad this was. If this police officer had only dragged him into the car to fuck him, he would have been lucky. He remembered how scared Nickel had looked when the man had explained to him how they could take him if he misbehaved in public, and oh, had he misbehaved just now. He’d screamed and yelled at a _police officer_. Taven had tried to _fight_ him when he’d been caught _destroying_ something, and now he was believed to be on the run, too, on top of it all. 

They would take him away and kill him. They would _kill_ him, and his master couldn’t save him. 

Taven burst out sobbing. He didn’t want to die, not now, not like this. “I- I didn’t,” he wept. “I didn’t run, Sir. I promise I didn’t. I- I’d never run. Never! My master’s good to me. I’d never wanna leave him. _Never_!” Taven couldn’t be more truthful. He’d never longed for Nickel more than he did in that moment. 

“Then why _are_ you here on your own without a slave pass, boy and what the heck were you doing in that old phone booth?”

Taven’s mind was working desperately. He had to come up with a plausible answer, or he was dead, but simply telling the truth didn’t seem like a good idea. If he explained how the police had just arrested his master for kicking a man in the face at the mall, this police officer would probably not even consider giving him back to Nickel, but would just take him to be killed right away. He scrambled for a believable lie. 

“I- I was only…” At first, he had no idea what to say, but then it just came to him. He was surprised himself how easily the lies spilled out of his mouth. “My master sent me to- to… He sent me to buy him a paper, and- and… I… I lost the money, Sir. I swear, I had them, I had them in my pocket and all, and then they were just gone, and I was scared to go back, Sir. I just walked on, you know, thinking, what the fuck am I gonna say to Master, and- and then I didn’t know where the fuck I was, and… I wasn’t trying to break the phone, Sir, I swear. I was just gonna call Master, ‘cause I didn’t know where the fuck I was, and I just wanted him to come get me. I was trying to call the emergency number, ’cause it’s free, but the fucking phone wasn’t working. I swear, Sir. Please believe me. It was already broken. It was already broken, I didn’t break it… _Please_, Sir, I don’t wanna die.” 

Wonder of all wonders, the police officer’s eyes softened. “You got lost, and you were trying to call your master, on _that_?” He smiled, clearly amused. “Boy, those phones haven’t worked in years. I guess you don’t know, but since most people have mobile phones these days, the city disconnected the public ones. Most of those old booths have been taken down, but I guess they missed one.”

Taven was stunned. “You- you can’t call _anyone_ from that? Ever?”

The police officer shook his head. “Nope, not a soul, but it’s really kind of cute you were trying to.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I tell you what, slave. You obviously didn’t mean to run away, so I’ll just go ahead and turn a blind eye and take you back to your master.”

“Really, Sir?” Taven sniffed. “Really?” 

The police officer nodded. “You couldn’t help getting lost, and I understand you were scared, so… I’ll forget your behavior, and the fact you’re running about without a slave pass, _this_ time. You hear that, slave? I had better not catch you on your own again!” 

Taven nodded frenetically. “I’ll never walk off again, Sir, I swear.” 

The police officer got out of the backseat and got in behind the wheel instead, taking out his phone. “Okay, boy,” he said. “What’s your master’s name?” 

“Master Roth, Sir,” Taven answered without hesitation.

“Yeah, there are probably a million Roths in the city, boy. You don’t happen to know his first name, too?”

Taven’s heart sank into his stomach; he really had no fucking idea. He’d never heard Nickel call Mr. Roth anything else than ‘Roth’. “I… I don’t know, Sir,” he said. There was no lying with this, was there? 

The police officer only shrugged his shoulders. “Do you know what he does for a living then?” 

“Yeah,” Taven said, eagerly sitting up from his slumped position. He did know that, of course. “He’s a bodyguard, Sir.” 

“Really? That’s not your average profession, is it? Well, shouldn’t be too hard to find then.” 

The police officer put the phone to his ear and soon repeated an address, thanking someone, and ending the call. “’Cobbler Street’, that’s all the way down in the South End. That’s a long walk, boy.”

“I walked for _ages_, Sir,” Taven said, immensely relieved at the outcome and having no qualms whatsoever about upholding the lie.

The closer they got to the South End, though, the more nervous Taven became. He started to realize in how many ways lying like this could backfire on him, and he wondered if maybe he should have told the truth, after all. 

Pretending Mr. Roth was his master, he hadn’t thought about how it would look if he weren’t able to recognize the street door where he was supposed to live. The police officer would find that strange, no doubt. If Nickel hadn’t swung by Mr. Roth’s place earlier he _definitely_ wouldn’t have been able to, but... Taven turned cold, what if he still didn’t recognize the damn door. He’d only been waiting in the car with his master, after all, and hadn’t really paid attention to his surroundings. 

In addition, Mr. Roth didn’t know what had happened and would, of course, be very surprised to see him turn up like this. What if the bodyguard simply revealed his lie, what if Mr. Roth wasn’t even at home? Hadn’t the man said he was going to see his sister? If no one opened the door, then the police officer would surely take ‘the lost slave’ with him instead, and then they would check on his story, and…

Oh, why had he lied so fucking much? Why could he never just… think? 

Tense as a bowstring, Taven stared out the car window, trying to read the street signs, holding his breath when he realized the police officer was now slowly driving down Cobbler Street. “There it is, Sir,” he yelled, trying to point even with his hands cuffed behind his back. “My master lives here.” He was so relieved he could cry; he did recognize the green scuffed door next to a bicycle repair shop, from where Mr. Roth had emerged, having fetched his license. 

“Happy to be home again, I see,” the police officer said, grinning.

When the police officer took him inside the street door, Taven was again grateful to his master for teaching him how to read. He was able to show the police officer Mr. Roth’s apartment door, making his story even more believable. Taven nervously shifted feet behind the police officer’s back, watching the man ring the doorbell, only the bodyguard could doom him now.

He didn’t know if to be relieved, or more scared, when the door opened. 

Mr. Roth looked surprised, all right. “Uh, officer? Is something…? Taven? What the fuck?”

“I found your slave in an old phone booth close to the mall downtown, Mr. Roth,” the police officer explained. “Apparently he got lost, and was trying to call you.”

Mr. Roth was obviously not one bit enlightened by this. “What?” he said. 

Taven did all he could to silently signal to Mr. Roth to just go along with it, nearly jumping up and down in his desperation behind the police officer’s back, and mouthing pleas. He didn’t know if the bodyguard would want to help him, at all. Taven remembered how, at the slave market, the large man had firmly advised his master _not_ to buy him. What if he simply took this chance to ‘help’ his boss get rid of a slave the bodyguard didn’t think his employer should have gotten in the first place. 

“He told me what happened, Sir,” the police officer explained further. “He accidentally lost the money you gave him, didn’t dare go back, and then simply got lost.”

The bodyguard only stared at them both, but then... “Lost the money, eh?” Mr. Roth sighed deeply. “Yeah, he does things like that _all_ the fucking time. He’s a sloppy and clumsy little bugger.” 

“I see,” the police officer said, smiling. “Well, if I were to follow procedures here, Sir… I’m sure you’re aware, even if you’re only sending him down the street a few blocks to buy a paper, you actually _do_ need to issue him a slave pass for this area. I’ll turn a blind eye, this time, but…”

Mr. Roth looked suitably chastised. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry; officer, but you know how it is. You keep meaning to do stuff, and… I’ll get him one, I promise. Thanks for not taking him to the slave center.”

The police officer shrugged. “It’s just a kid. Well, I guess I’ll leave it to you to do deal with this, and... Don’t be too harsh on him, will you. A paper is just a few nickels, after all. I’d rather not the kid is badly beaten for such a trivial offence. I’m sure this ordeal scared him enough he’ll be more careful with your belongings in the future, Sir.”

Taven was stunned. That police officer actually cared he wasn’t punished too hard.

“I won’t beat him,” Mr. Roth promised. “I… Uh, I’ll send him to bed without supper, or something.”

“Glad to hear it, Sir. Well, I’ll be on my way then.” He turned to pull Taven in front of him, taking the cuffs off. “Kid’s wrists are thin as sticks,” he commented. “Missed quite a few suppers, eh?”

“Uh…” Roth said.

The police officer turned him around and patted his shoulder. “You’ll be all right, kid?” he asked.

“Yeah, Sir,” Taven said. “Master’s nice, really.” He started to believe Mr. Roth actually was. The bodyguard hadn’t betrayed him, after all. “Thanks for helping me, Sir,” he added.

The police officer only smiled at that, touched his cap in Mr. Roth’s direction, and left down the stairs.

“Get your ass inside!” Mr. Roth said, scowling at him. 

Taven obeyed and the bodyguard closed the door behind him. “_Boy_, do you have some explaining to do,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular commenter, and creator of several nice fanart sketches for this fic, [PaxterHobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) has branched out from Fanfic into Original fic. She posted the first chapter of her first foray into Original slavefic here: [The Best Gift Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899446/chapters/60250384). Go take a look! She also gifted this fic to me. Thank you so much, PaxterHobber. :-)
> 
> /Fran


	46. Thwarted Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually, I post on Sundays. However, I will be quite busy tomorrow, so instead of posting a day later, I decided to post a day early, so... Here it is. :-)
> 
> [PaxterHobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) drew the most adorable sketch of Taven from a scene in the previous chapter, where he tries to call Roth in an old phone both. Go see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/60659125)! Thank you so much, PaxterHobber. ^.^ 
> 
> /Fran

Inside, Roth glared at Taven while the boy kicked off his shoes. “What on earth are you doing here, and where’s Nickel?” he demanded. 

Taven looked more fidgety and shaky than ever, it was clear something had happened. “The police took him, Mr. Roth. They _took_ him.”

Roth startled at this worrying piece of information. “What? Nickel was arrested? Why? What happened? Why didn’t that police officer say anything? Why the hell did he go on about papers and lost money for?”

Taven seemed frustrated. “It wasn’t the same police,” he said. “That one caught me in the phone booth, and I just told him all that so he’d take me here. You gotta get master back, Mr. Roth, you gotta get him back!”

Roth was frustrated, too. The boy’s ‘explanation’ was confusing, at best. “What freaking phone booth?” he said. “What did Nickel _do_?”

Taven’s whole demeanor changed; he looked right through Roth with an almost dreaming expression and even smiled. “He… He kicked him, Mr. Roth, right in the fucking face. It was blood everywhere, and- and… It was fucking amazing. I thought he’d died for sure, but then his leg moved, and…I thought he was just gonna beat master to death, you know, but he just… and… _Bam_! Swift’s on the floor, and…”

“Swift?” Roth dried at his face, his stomach knotting up as he started to understand. “Nickel attacked Swift?” he asked, hoping he’d got that wrong.

“Yeah,” Taven yelled excitedly, but soon looked upset again. “Everyone just pushed me away, and then the police took him.”

Roth moaned. “Oh my God!” He could hardly believe his ears. How the hell could this have happened? He’d left Nickel by the car. His boss had been on the way home, how could he have run into Swift? 

Roth put an arm around Taven’s shoulders and brought him farther into the apartment. “Okay,” he said. “You’ll have to explain to me again, and this time, we’ll take it from the start.”

\-----o0o-----

Roth opened a kitchen cupboard and reached for the coffee filters. He so needed a cup.

He’d left Taven on the couch in his living room, having had the boy tell him everything. Taven had been upset, shook up, and excited all at once, and it had been a chore making him relate the story in chronological order, and in a comprehensive manner, but eventually they’d pieced it all together.

Roth had cursed when he’d finally gotten the whole picture. Damn it, that’s why he’d wanted Nickel to stay as far away from Swift as possible. His boss just wasn’t able to keep a clear head when it came to that man. He still couldn’t believe how stupid Nickel had been. At the moment, Roth was actually happy his boss was under arrest, or he would have told him a thing, or two.

What would happen to the plans now? According to Taven, they had taken Swift away in an ambulance, knocked out, bleeding like a slaughtered pig, but how badly hurt was he? What if he wasn’t able to go get the drugs, and neatly fall into their trap? Roth had to talk to Simon, soon.

He put the filter in the coffee maker, fetched a jar of ground beans from the pantry, and scooped up a big spoonful. He needed a strong cup of coffee today. Instead, a loud scream made him spill it all over the counter top, and Roth threw the spoon into the sink in anger and stomped back out into the living room. It was the second time _today_ Taven had made him jump out of his skin with a sudden piercing scream. 

“You have got to stop doing that, boy, for fucks sake!” he yelled.

Taven was no longer sitting on the couch, but stood pressed into a corner, visibly shuddering and clawing at his hand as if there was something on it he desperately tried to get rid of. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Roth asked.

“There was something… Like… Something furry and it touched me. It touched my hand.” The boy shuddered again and rubbed the back of his hand frenetically against his thigh. 

Roth frowned. He had no idea what the fuck the boy was on about. 

He scanned the room for the perceived threat, and the cat leisurely appeared from behind the couch and jumped up into it, lazily flopping down on the cushions, starting to clean one of her front paws, seemingly apathetic to the noise around her.

“The cat?” Roth asked. “You mean the cat? For goodness sake, Taven, it’s a cat. She won’t hurt you.”

Taven stared at him in confusion, and then started to look embarrassed when he realized what it was he’d most likely felt. “I don’t like furry things,” he muttered, looking down at his feet. “I don’t like it touching me, and stuff.”

Roth almost laughed. Taven pressed into a corner, terrified of a small cuddly pet, it just seemed so comical to him. However, he realized it wasn’t funny and restrained himself. Nickel had told him how Swift had punished Taven by tying him up and throwing him down a hole under the building. Apparently, there had been rats. No, this wasn’t funny at all and Taven’s reaction was understandable. 

Roth wasn’t going to laugh at the poor boy, but he didn’t think it would help making a big affair of it either. He sat down next to the cat and scratched her behind the ears. “This is Missy,” he explained. “She’s an old friend of mine, and she really doesn’t have anything in common with a rat, you know. If she butted your hand, she just wanted to cuddle; that’s all. Try giving her a scratch under the chin, like this, she loves that.” Roth scratched the old cat, and she purred and rolled over on her back. “Come back to the couch, will you? She won’t bite, I promise.” 

Taven hesitated, but finally sauntered across the floor and sat back down, although he made sure Roth was between him and the cat. “I ain’t scared or anything,” he muttered, not looking at them. 

“Okay,” Roth said, trying not to smile. “I would really appreciate it if I could have that cup of coffee now, so… You think you can manage?” 

“Yeah. Sorry,” Taven murmured. 

Roth went back to the kitchen, finished making his coffee – this time without interruptions – and brought it back to the living room. He halted in the doorway to watch, steaming mug in hand. Taven hadn’t moved closer to the old cat, but he’d reached out an arm and was carefully scratching Missy on top the head, with the very tip of his index finger only.

Roth grinned to himself.

\-----o0o-----

They sat on the couch, in silence, Roth sipping his coffee.

Taven had begged him to get Nickel back, but he had had to make the boy disappointed. It wasn’t something he could do. Roth comforted Taven with the fact it was highly unlikely the police would manage to retain Nickel for very long, though. The Wren clan had well-paid lawyers, and those were usually adept enough at making clan people get away easy, almost no matter what they had done. 

Roth wasn’t really a fan of the clans’ mostly undeserved privileges, but Nickel being a friend, and Swift being the biggest douchebag in history, complicated the matter, to say the least. 

He told Taven all they could do was wait. Nickel was bound to make a few phone calls, as soon as they allowed him to, and Roth assured the boy his master would definitely call his bodyguard. “He’ll call me, just you wait and see,” he said, putting his phone on the coffee table before them, patting Taven’s shoulder in encouragement. 

Sure enough, around half an hour later, the phone started to buzz and vibrate against the tabletop. 

“See?” Roth said. He answered the phone, but Nickel didn't even give him a chance to say as much a simple ‘hello’, yelling hysterically into his ear. 

“No,” Roth answered, trying to get a word in. “No, Nickel, he’s not… Look, he’s… Oh, for the love of…” Roth gathered himself. “Nickel, for fuck’s sake, calm down and listen to me!” he ordered firmly. “Taven isn’t gone, he’s with me. No, I’m telling you, he’s here, in my apartment, sitting beside me on the couch, and he’s just fine. There’s not a scratch on... How? Well… Here, why don’t you talk to him yourself?”

Roth handed Taven the phone. The boy was practically on his lap anyway, trying to listen in on their conversation. 

“Master!” he yelled into it.

Roth got up from the couch and took the empty coffee cup back out into the kitchen. He supposed he wouldn’t get a sane word out of his boss until he was convinced the boy was alive and well anyway, so he might as well leave them to it. 

A few minutes later, Taven came out into the kitchen as well, holding out the phone to him. “Master wants talk to you again,” he said.

Nickel sounded considerably more normal this time, though he was clearly still shook up. “I only have a minute left on the phone,” he said, his voice shaky. “They said they might release me later tonight, but I’m not sure what they’re really saying. I’ve called my lawyer, but please come down here, as well. I’m at the downtown precinct.”

“Of course,” Roth answered. “I’ll be there in a heartbeat, don’t worry”. 

They ended the call and Roth went out into the hallway to put his shoes on. Taven followed. 

“Oh no,” Roth said. “You’re staying here!”

“What? No! Please, Mr. Roth, let me come, too.”

“No way,” Roth said. “I don’t have my car, and I’m not gonna drag you across the South End on the fucking bus. You’ve had enough adventure for one day. Go sit your ass down on the couch!”

“But, I…” Taven dared protest.

“I said, no,” Roth interrupted. “Don’t make me repeat myself one more time!”

Taven silenced, hung his head, and turned to walk back into the living room, looking like a kicked puppy. 

Kids like that, Roth thought, they weren’t really bad, you just needed to be firm.

“Hey, boy,” he shouted back into the apartment, already having walked out the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, and I’ll either bring some news, or your master, so don’t worry, okay?”

\-----o0o-----

Roth took the bus downtown and walked into the precinct for the second time today, but this soon turned out to be a lot more troublesome visit. 

They didn’t let him see Nickel. They only allowed a lawyer into the interrogation room, they informed him, and, apparently, they were far from finished questioning the young lord. Roth argued with them, and finally they agreed to take a break so he could at least talk to the lawyer. 

Roth had never met Nickel’s lawyer before. He turned out to be an elderly man with bushy white eyebrows, steely eyes, and the physique of a scarecrow. The old man took his hand and presented himself as ‘Richter’. 

Mr. Richter informed him the police didn’t seem willing to let Lord Wren walk out the doors today, but he shouldn’t worry. He knew what he was doing, and they would never dare hold a clan lord more than twenty-four hours in a case like this. Richter would see to it their employer was out much sooner than that. Tomorrow morning at the latest, he claimed. 

Roth winced; he couldn’t imagine Nickel would be very happy spending the night in here. 

“I’m sorry, you came here for nothing, Mr. Roth,” Richter said. “You might as well go back home, there really isn’t anything you can do here. Though Lord Wren did instruct me to ask you to do a few things for him, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure,” Roth said. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

Richter put a bony hand into a pocket and fished out a bunch of keys. “Lord Wren specifically asked you be the one to pick him up whenever he is released, which, as it looks like, _will_ be early tomorrow morning, and to fetch his car to do so. This, I believe, are the keys. He also asked you let his personal slave spend the night in your home. Apparently, he doesn’t think he should be alone.” 

Richter sniffed contemptuously. “If you ask me, you shouldn’t coddle slaves in such a manner. Can’t be alone… I’ve never heard such nonsense. What use could you ever have for a slave that won’t even sleep by himself? I would have beaten such childish behavior out of the boy, right away.”

Yeah, I just bet you would, Roth thought, but he received the keys without commenting on if Taven should be beaten for not wanting to be abandoned again.

“Well,” Richter finished. “That’s what Lord Wren asked me to ask you, Mr. Roth, and that’s what I’ve done.”

“Got it,” Roth said. “Tell Ni… Uh, _Lord Wren_, he doesn’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of it.” 

Richter left for the interrogation room again, but Roth did not intend to go home. He had to look up Simon.

However, Roth seemed to be constantly thwarted in his plans today. Simon wasn’t at the precinct, and the baby-faced chief didn’t answer at the number he’d been given, either. Roth’s efforts trying to find out where he could reach him proved futile. He was told Simon had left mere minutes ago, on some ‘important police work’ somewhere, and what this work was, where it was being performed, or when he would return, was no business of his. Super secret, apparently. 

Roth soon enough got it. He being the employee of that ‘fucking lord’ in there – who ‘thought he could go about kicking common people in the face without repercussions’ – just might have something to do with the splendid reception. It wasn’t like he didn’t catch the insinuations the officers half-whispered around him. Yeah, Roth thought, if they knew better, they’d have cheered Nickel on. 

Since not even Meyer – who most certainly would have assisted him, even if no one else were – seemed to be about, Roth gave up and took the bus home. He had to find out what was up with Swift on his own and try to call Simon again later. 

He got off the bus a few stops early and bought a pizza. Taven must be starving by now, and he was rather hungry himself, as well.

\-----o0o-----

Roth tore off the lid of the pizza box and put the rest on the coffee table, slumping down on the couch where Taven was already seated. He’d brought some paper towels, a soda for the boy and a beer for himself. 

Their dinner was ready.

”Eat!” he said, pushing four of the eight slices toward the boy. “I can assure you, you won’t see another pizza again in… this lifetime, probably, so, enjoy it while you can.” He grinned. 

As usual, there were no smiles in return. Taven cautiously reached for a slice, nibbling at it only, as if he was testing it for poison. 

Roth raised an eyebrow. The slave hadn’t eaten all day, and it was _pizza_. He’d expected considerably more enthusiasm at this rare abundance of tasty gooeyness. Maybe it was only the boy was still disappointed Roth had returned without his master, but he’d listened to his explanation earlier, and seemed to accept it.

While Roth started on his third slice, Taven was still only on his first, and there was this air of discomfort all around them, too. Roth glanced at Taven. He was huddling in the farthest corner of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, eyeing him warily, flinching at every move he made. Not this, again. Roth thought they were past this fear and suspicion. What had he done to bring it back? 

Well, he damn well wasn’t going to ask. Roth was annoyed. Taven could sulk in his corner as much as he wanted to, and _he_ was going to ignore it and finish his damn share of the slices.

Roth reached for the beer to rinse down a mouthful of pizza when Taven broke the uncomfortable silence. 

“Mr. Roth,” he said. “Master says, I wanna, you know, say something, I should, like, ask permission first.”

“Well,” Roth said. “I suppose it’s never too late to adopt some good manners. If that was you asking for permission, then I guess you have it. What’s on your mind, boy?” He leaned back with the beer.

Taven hesitated so long Roth thought the slave wouldn’t say anything after all, but…

“Since I’m gonna stay here tonight,” he started, his voice shaky. “Are you gonna…? I mean, are you gonna, like… I mean, if you want to, like, fuck me, or something, I- I don’t think master would like that. I don’t think I’m allowed to... you know; serve others. Just saying.” 

Roth almost spurted the beer. “Taven! For _fuck’s_ sake!” 

He was angry when he turned to the boy, but the pathetic, hunched form immediately placated him. Could he really blame Taven for not trusting him more than that? People constantly doing shit like that to him, it was the slave’s reality, after all, or had been for most of his life. 

“Now you listen to me closely, boy,” Roth said, hoping the slave could read the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m not going to do any dirty stuff to you, you hear? I’d never do that. It’s not because you don’t belong to me, and it’s not because Nickel would never speak to me again if I did. It’s not because I’m not interested in men, _any_ man, and not because I wouldn’t fuck anyone as damn young as you at my age, for goodness sake. It’s because _you don’t want it_. 

“That would make it rape, boy, do you hear, and I don’t fucking care what you are, or what the law says about it. It’s rape, and I’m no fucking rapist, because that’s just _wrong_. Yeah, I might yell at you sometimes, and you behave badly enough, I can’t promise I won’t smack you around a bit, but I want you to be very clear on one thing. I will _never_ have sex with you. So, now you know.”

The slave stared at him, mouth open, but then it was as if years of tension went out of him. Taven nodded; serious eyes. “Okay, Mr. Roth. Thank you, Sir,” he said.

Roth picked up one of the neglected pizza slices and put it in the boy’s hands. “Eat!” he repeated. “I know you want it.”

Taven didn’t answer, but started to push the food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days.

\-----o0o-----

Early in the morning, Taven was sleeping on the couch, and Roth, still in his underwear, sat down in front his computer in the corner of his bedroom that doubled as his ‘home office’. He was going to look for phone numbers and start calling hospitals. Of course, they weren’t really supposed to give a stranger on the phone information about their patients, but sometimes you got lucky and ran into a ‘loose mouth’. 

Couldn’t hurt to try.

Twenty minutes later he’d managed to find out which hospital Swift was staying at, but since the person he’d talked to refused to tell him anything about how badly Swift was injured, or when he might be released, it was pretty much useless information.

Trying to get hold of Simon again, proved equally unsuccessful. Where the fuck was he, and why didn’t he answer his damn phone? 

He put his own phone down with an exasperated sigh. This whole plan would so go to shits. Roth had known it. He’d just had too much luck with stuff lately. Of course it wouldn’t last.

\-----o0o-----

Roth took an early bus to the mall to get Nickel’s car, and got the phone call already on the way. They had released Nickel, and he wanted nothing else than to go home. Roth promised he’d be at the precinct as soon as he’d picked up Taven.

Nickel looked weary when they brought him out. He probably hadn’t slept much. Roth hoped the sight of Taven would cheer him up somewhat. His boss also seemed to forget everything else when he’d finished signing papers, gotten his stuff back, and turned to see the small figure at Roth’s side. He pulled Taven into a crushing hug, and didn’t seem to care about the looks and whispers around him in the least. Roth had to remind his boss they _were_ going home, and Nickel was still holding on to the boy when they walked out to the car.

Roth offered to drive, seeing the dark circles under Nickel’s eyes, but he didn’t want to hear of it. For the rest of the drive, the atmosphere was somewhat stifling. Nickel didn’t seem up to talking, and Roth didn’t want to be the first to bring stuff up.

He didn’t know what he wanted to say anyway. Roth had mixed feelings about his boss right now. On one hand, he did feel bad for him, obviously this had been an ordeal, but on the other hand, Nickel had most likely ruined their best chance of ever putting Swift behind bars, and he was kind of pissed off about that.

Well, the car wasn’t the place for a possible argument, in any case. He supposed he shouldn’t bark at his boss in front his slave, either.

Roth endured the uncomfortable silence.

\-----o0o-----

Finally arriving at the mansion – the drive had seemed twice as long – Nickel only reluctantly sent Taven to his room, and asked Roth to join him in the study. It seemed his boss did want to talk about things, after all. So much so, he neglected changing clothes, having breakfast, or catching up on sleep. 

“So, prison life’s been hard on you,” Roth joked, closing the study door behind them, and reaching for one of the chairs along the wall.

Nickel gave up a snort, which seemed to be a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement at the bad joke, slumping down in his large chair.

“I haven’t had a nice time, you know,” he said. “They put me with this huge bald tattooed monster of a man for the night. He had a giant beard, didn’t say a word, and just kept staring at me. I hardly slept all night. I thought he might rape me any second.”

Roth couldn’t help the upward twitch at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sure he was completely harmless,” he said. “No sane police would put a clan member at real risk in their own holding cells. They’d get in serious trouble with the authorities, and they know it. I bet they just grabbed the chance getting to intimidate a lord.”

Nickel didn’t look the least bit happier to hear his ‘roommate’ for the night might only have been some kind of practical joke. “Well, good for them,” he spat. “They succeeded.” 

Obviously, trying to lighten things up wasn’t the way to go here. Roth might as well get straight to the point then. “Taven told me everything,” he said without preamble. “Why do you think I told you not to go to the mall on your own anymore? What on _earth_ went through your mind that you would…”

“Don’t,” Nickel interrupted, raising a dismissive hand. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he continued, looking down in his lap. “Believe me; I know what I did was wrong, and you can’t be tougher on me than I’ve already been on myself. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I agree. It was stupid, reckless… insane. No, don’t ask, because I _don’t_ know what on earth came over me. I know it’s the worst cliché, but it really was as if something took me over and…”

“Okay,” Roth said, interrupting in his turn. “I won’t ‘scold’ you, or anything. It’s just I don’t understand. You’re not a violent person. Have you ever been in a fight in your life?”

Nickel looked ashamed. “Of course not,” he said. “Still… The worst part is I don’t feel bad about it, Roth, I simply don’t.”

Roth didn’t get it. Hadn’t he just strongly insinuated he did feel bad? 

Nickel must have noticed his bemused expression. 

“I do feel bad,” he said. “I feel bad my actions put Taven at risk. Do you have any idea how I felt when the police walked me off and I realized Taven was going to be left behind? I’ve never felt so powerless. They simply wouldn’t listen to me.” Nickel swallowed hard and looked away. “Before I got hold of you, and was told Taven was safe… It was one of the worst moments of my life. Locked up, having no idea what had happened to him, not being able to do a damn thing…” Nickel closed his eyes, and a hand fisted on the desktop. “I hate myself for that. Taven could have been seriously hurt, stolen, taken to his death, and it would have been _my_ fault.”

Roth nodded. “I understand,” he said. Nickel felt bad about the consequences of his rash behavior, _not_ for kicking Swift in the face. He guessed he would have felt the same. It made him regret he had to add on to that burden. “Nickel, I gotta tell you something,” he continued. To hell with Simon’s orders, the circumstances were different now, and he was going to tell his boss the truth, come what may. 

Nickel looked both worried and confused at this announcement, but he waited in silence.

Roth took a deep breath, and started to talk. He didn’t hide anything this time, explaining everything, in detail. He told Nickel about the slave market, the flower shop, and the plans he’d made with Chief Inspector Simon. Still plagued by a bad conscience, he also confessed to lying about his sister the day before, and why. “So,” Roth ended. “Now you know everything. The problem is, since you just ‘kung-fued’ Swift into next Tuesday, there’s a substantial risk he _won’t_ fall as neatly into our trap as we’d hoped, and there’s no telling, really, what will happen now.”

He silenced, waiting for a reaction. 

Nickel stared at him as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Roth!” he said accusingly. “I’m… Why? Why would you go behind my back about something like this?”

Roth cringed at the hurt in Nickel’s voice. 

“I didn’t see it like that,” he said, trying to explain. “I sure as hell never meant to actually lie about things. It’s just… The way you acted in here the other day… You seemed so frazzled about the whole thing. When I found out about the drugs, I only thought about how upset you’d be if I told you we finally had something on Swift, and it wouldn’t lead anywhere. I only meant to wait filling you in until I was sure I had good news for you”. 

“You were afraid to disappoint me?” Nickel said. “For goodness sake, Roth, what am I? A child? Is this really what you think of me, that I’m so fragile I have to be shielded from things?”

Roth looked down. “Believe me,” he finally said. “’Fragile’ isn’t the word I’d use. You did just kick the shit out of a guy about twice your size, you know. I’m sorry, Nickel. What can I say? I know now keeping stuff from you was a stupid decision. I won’t do it again.” 

Roth silenced. He hoped there would be an ‘again’ at all. What if Nickel decided he couldn’t trust him anymore and simply fired him? 

Nickel leaned back in his chair, and frowned. “So, I ruined our chances of putting Swift behind bars, you say?”

“Sort of,” Roth conceded. “We don’t know for sure yet, but, it’s very likely, yes. I guess I share the blame, though. If I’d told you from the start, I doubt you would’ve attacked him.”

“I wouldn’t have.” Nickel confirmed. “I’d much rather he was in jail. I’d say we _both_ screwed this up pretty badly, didn’t we?” He gave him a faint and tired smile.

Roth nodded. “We did,” he agreed, returning the smile. 

This was why they weren’t only employer and employee, but friends. A boss might fire his bodyguard, but friends talked about it and got over it. 

“Well then,” Nickel said. “Seeing as we’re at it anyway, doing stupid things, and making rash decisions… What would you say if I asked you to pay Swift a visit?”

Roth raised an eyebrow.


	47. The Other Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter is over 8000 words, so, about as long as a two-chapter posting, I guess.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Based on the previous chapter, [PaxterHobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) drew a sketch of Taven with a cat, and it has to be the cutest sketch of hers so far ^.^ Please, go take a look! You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/60932356). Thanks so much, PaxterHobber. :-)
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> [leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo) made another set of watercolor paintings for this story, and just as with PaxterHobber's artwork above (great minds think alike, I guess) they also chose to depict Taven with a cat. This illustrates the scene in the previous chapter where Taven, a bit warily, acquaints himself with Roth's cat, Missy, and it's so darn stinking cute! :-) Go take a look! It's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/61100380?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_323517043). Thank you, leaovo! :-)
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> I would also like to take the opportunity to remind that I do have a Discord server, which you can access here: https://discord.gg/sbjpdDU, in case you'd like to pop in and chat. I'm around there now and then at least. :-) 18+ only, please. 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Thank you all! :-)
> 
> /Fran

Taven held pencil to paper without writing anything.

They had returned from the city so early that after breakfast his master had ordered him up to the classroom at the scheduled time, but Taven’s ability to concentrate was worse than ever.

Things didn’t feel right. What had happened was such a big deal to him, it just seemed wrong somehow, the next day should be this… normal. He was still so filled up with the wonder of what had transpired yesterday he couldn’t fathom how not everything else had, sort of, changed, too. 

Taven kept staring at his master at the teacher’s desk. _He_ didn’t seem affected at all. How could that be? To Taven, it was almost as if there was a new man sitting over there, a man he in some ways had a different kind of respect for now – and was maybe a little bit more scared of, too – and yet, his master didn’t seem to want to acknowledge it at all. 

He kept seeing the moment in front of him when Swift crashed to the floor, blood gushing out of his face, and he found himself staring at Nickel with unblinking eyes. _His_ master had done that, his master had _beaten_ Swift.

All morning he’d ached to tell his master how amazing he thought this was, but the man wouldn’t let him. As soon as he was about to say something Nickel strictly directed his attention to the schoolwork, not allowing the slightest diversion. 

Taven didn’t want to make the man angry, but he was sorely disappointed.

\-----o0o-----

In the evening, Taven thought he would finally have his chance.

Since the lessons, he hadn’t seen his master all day and had started to fear he would be alone all night, too, but then the order came. He was invited to spend the night upstairs, as usual. 

Now they were cozy and comfortable on the couch in their pajamas and Taven still hadn’t been able to say a word. The TV had been switched on as soon as they sat down, which effectively shut him up. He had his orders, no talking while his master watched the news. 

The news had never seemed so boring, or so long. Taven restlessly fidgeted under his blanket, he couldn’t wait until it was over.

When his master finally switched the TV off, Taven seized the chance. He didn’t ask permission to speak, tonight Nickel would probably not grant it, but he simply couldn’t keep quiet a minute longer. “Master,” he said, excitement rushing through him all over again. “You… You _beat_ Swift.”

His master didn’t answer. He only put the remote control on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch with a deep sigh.

Taven nearly sprang to his feet in sheer frustration. Why wasn’t the man as excited by this as he was? Taven just couldn’t understand. His master had told him many times how much he hated Swift, so now that he’d fucking _beaten_ him, why wasn’t Nickel happy and proud? 

“It was awesome, Master,” he said, sitting up straight and throwing the blanket aside. “It was _awesome_ how you just… And- and… It was the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and…”

“Awesome?” Nickel said. “It most certainly wasn’t ‘awesome’, boy. It was madness, that’s what it was.”

Taven felt he vigorously had to protest this. “It _was_ awesome, Master. It fucking _was_. I thought you were just gonna die, you know. Swift’s, like, twice as big, and the meanest fucking asshole ever, but you just- just… He didn’t even see it coming, Master, you were that fast, and you just… With a fucking perfect round kick, and- and… _Bam_! It was fucking _awesome_.”

“Slave, _shut up_!” 

Taven swallowed his next words in a startled gulp at the yell.

“It was _not_ ‘awesome’,” his master barked. “It was irrational, immature, not to say primitive, behavior, and there’s nothing ‘awesome’ about it. I betrayed everything I was ever taught about this kind of training. These skills are meant for personal development and self-defense, not for unprovoked attacks or revenge. I behaved disgustedly and didn’t give a damn about the consequences, and… I can go to prison for this, do you understand?” 

Taven cowered at the angry words, staring at his master. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

Nickel got up from the couch, making him flinch at the sudden move. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, turning to walk out of the room.

\-----o0o-----

Roth had been thinking things over all day, restlessly pacing his small apartment.

When Nickel had first asked him, he’d told his boss a most emphatic ‘no way’, followed by a ‘are you crazy?’ for good measure, and that was what he was still telling himself, as well. He wasn’t going to do something so utterly stupid and risky. Not a chance.

However, he’d known all along really, when it got dark… he _would_ be out the door

\-----o0o-----

The TV room was empty when he returned from the bathroom.

Nickel couldn’t say he was surprised. No wonder Taven had fled when he’d been so harsh. He hadn’t meant to. His anger had really only grown out of his own embarrassment. He sighed, taking the backstairs down to Taven’s room. 

He gave the door a short rap with his knuckles before going inside. Taven’s room was dark, but he could discern a shape on the bed. Had he gone to sleep, already? 

“Taven? Are you asleep?” he asked.

There was some movement from the bed, but no answer. Well, he was still awake then. 

He sat down at the bedside. “Remember what we talked about in the gardens?” he said “I promised I’d take into consideration you don’t mean anything bad if you say something to anger me, and… Well, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I understand now where you were coming from.” 

Nickel really thought he did. Taven would of course not consider consequences or sportsmanship. All _he_ would think about was how the monster who’d tortured him for so long had been ‘slain’, like the dragon in an old fairy tale. His admiration of the ‘knight in shining armor’ might be laughably misplaced in Nickel’s eyes, but it was still pure and honest. 

Taven hadn’t meant to shine a light on Nickel’s horribly embarrassing behavior; he’d only wanted to express this admiration. 

The boy pulled the cover over his head. “It’s my fault,” he murmured. 

“What? No! Why on earth would you think any of this is _your_ fault?”

“I shouldn’t have shown you who he was.”

“Oh. Taven, listen to me, you obeyed an order from your master and you had no control whatsoever over what I chose to do with that information. You did nothing wrong.” 

Taven pulled the cover down from his face again and turned to him, his eyes barely visible in the dusky room. “Are they really gonna send you to prison?” There was no mistaking the worry in his voice. 

Nickel didn’t answer right away. “Technically, they could,” he finally said. “You do understand what I did was illegal, right? It likely won’t happen, though. Mr. Richter, my lawyer, he’s very good at what he does, and he told me not to worry, he’ll make it ‘go away’, somehow. I can’t say I’m not relieved, though I suppose in some ways it really isn’t right. I suppose I should face the consequences of what I’ve done, and…”

“That’s bullshit,” Taven interrupted. “Swift’s a fucking bastard, and it ain’t right if you’d get in trouble for kicking his ass. He deserved that, Master.”

Nickel couldn’t help smiling at Taven’s indignation. “A part of me wants to agree with you,” he admitted. “Don’t get the wrong impression. I have no sympathy for Swift whatsoever, and I can’t say I feel bad he’s injured. In fact, I hope he’s in a lot of pain right now, and that he’ll walk away from this with an even uglier face than before, at the very least, but… No matter how satisfying this might be, on some primitive level, it isn’t the right way to go about things, boy. It just isn’t.”

“Why not?” Taven muttered. “He’d do it to you.”

Nickel nodded. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t want to be like Swift.”

Eyes adjusting to the dusk, Nickel saw how Taven looked at him, brow furrowed in thought. 

“All I’ve ever tried to do here,” Nickel continued. “Is to show you violence is _not_ the way, and then… I did that. Violence is wrong, boy, no matter what. It doesn’t solve anything, and there are always consequences. Because of me, you were abandoned in the city and could have been seriously hurt.” Nickel had to look away and gather himself before he could go on. “It’s not worth it, boy. It’s never worth it.”

Taven stared at him with big eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if Swift deserved it, what I did was wrong, and it makes me very uncomfortable to have you admire me for it. I understand how you feel, and I share some of those feelings, but I’d rather not you talk about it as ‘awesome’ again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Taven nodded. “I think so, Master.”

Nickel reached a hand out and caressed Taven over the cheek. “Good,” he said. “So, do you still want to sleep with me tonight then?”

Taven nodded. 

Nickel smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, because after yesterday, I don’t think I want to let go of you ever again, so… Scoot over!”

“Uh?”

“Scoot over,” Nickel repeated. “There’s no use in walking all the way upstairs again, and since you’re already in bed, I’ll sleep here tonight.”

Taven stared at him now as if he’d gone nuts, but the boy obeyed and gave him the space to crawl under the covers with him. These beds were really ridiculously small, Nickel thought, not knowing how to turn to fit, but the closer he had a reason to get to Taven then. He pushed an arm under Taven’s neck and spooned the boy, hugging him close. “Have you any idea how happy and relieved I am to have you back in one piece?” he whispered in the boy’s ear. 

Taven didn’t answer, but he burrowed closer to him. 

“It was smart of you to find a way to reach Roth,” he added. “I’m glad you seem to trust him enough to think of such a thing.”

“He’s all right, Master,” Taven murmured, sounding half-asleep already.

Nickel smiled. “He is, isn’t he?”

\-----o0o-----

Roth stared at Swift’s door.

He must be crazy… _Nickel_ must be fucking crazy. How the hell could he have let his boss talk him into this? 

In an unusual moment of genuine anger with Nickel, Roth wanted to go back to the mansion, late as it was, call him a ‘spoiled brat’ to his face, and ask him why he thought he’d _always_ get his damn ways. 

Earlier, Roth had asked Nickel what he thought was the likely legal consequences of his attack on Swift, and his boss had almost looked ashamed, explaining how his lawyer assured him, with enough money, it would most likely be settled out of court, and then hushed up, so no one, especially not his father, would know about it. Again, Roth had had mixed feelings. How could he ever want Nickel to suffer for giving Swift what the bastard deserved? However, clan members getting away easy, buying their way out of stuff… 

Wasn’t it so fucking typical? 

He was going to break into Swift’s apartment here, and steal from him. If he was caught, _he_ would fucking _not_ get away with it. He’d lose his license to practice, at the very least. Typical how a clan lord would want _him_ to do the dirty work, in spite of the fact he would risk the most.

However, he knew he wasn’t being fair. Roth wasn’t one of Nickel’s slaves and the young lord had no power to force him to do anything. Nickel had neither manipulated, nor blackmailed, him into this. His boss had made a suggestion and presented his arguments. If Roth didn’t deep down agree, he wouldn’t be here now.

No, the idea might have been Nickel’s, but this was _his_ choice, risks and all.

Well, he might as well get to it then. 

He studied the door closer. There was no use in trying to tackle the lock. Years ago, back in his PI days, an acquaintance of Roth’s, who happened to be a reformed burglar, had tried to teach him how to pick locks. Roth never did get the hang of it. He just wasn’t good with mechanical stuff. No, to get this door open, he’d be better served simply using some good old-fashioned brute force. He swiftly produced a crowbar he’d hidden under his jacket.

The weak point of entry in the apartments down here usually wasn’t the door in itself, Roth knew, but the doorframe. Of course, he thought, while trying to locate the best spot to place the crowbar, breaking the doorframe would cause a lot of noise. However, he was confident Swift’s neighbors would have learned long ago not to interfere, no matter what kind of noise they heard from his apartment. In these parts, you minded your own business. 

He wedged the crowbar between the door and the doorframe, close to the lock, and with a single forceful twist cracked the frame enough to be able to jerk open the door. Yeah, Roth thought, shaking his head at how easy that was, there was a reason he’d used some of the money Nickel’s clan paid him to install a new door to _his_ apartment, secure doorframe and all.

He stepped over the threshold, halted and listened. The apartment was as dark and quiet as it had seemed to be from the outside. Roth had counted on Swift not being back from the hospital, and it looked like he was correct. Walking farther inside, he still raised the crowbar in defense. You couldn’t be too careful. 

Roth went into the kitchen and switched the lights on, looking about with widening eyes. Not that he was the ideal homemaker himself, but… God, what a stinking disgusting dump. There were swaying piles of moldy dishes in the sink, empty pizza boxes stacked high against the wall, and the table was completely covered in empty beer cans and overflowing ashtrays. 

Okay, so now he knew what Swift _didn’t_ use his new slave for.

Roth spotted a dog bowl on the floor, one of those plastic ones you could buy in the pet aisle at the supermarket with cartoon bones printed along the rim. He shuddered; he was pretty damn sure Swift didn’t own a dog.

The living room didn’t look, or smell, better than the kitchen. It was clear there was a lot of drinking and partying going on here, empty booze bottles and overturned ashtrays littering a stained wall-to-wall carpet. He wouldn’t want to walk about in here barefooted; there were probably needles everywhere. 

Well, the living room was as devoid of life as the kitchen. 

The only bedroom was next. Roth avoided stepping on the dirty underwear and used toilet paper on the floor, going through the closets, pretending he didn’t see the stained sheets on the unmade bed, peeking underneath it. No one was hiding in here either. 

Maybe the boy wasn’t here, after all. 

Both Nickel and he had agreed the little slave Swift had replaced Taven with, would most likely be abandoned in the apartment. The boy had obviously not been out with Swift yesterday, so he should be here. On the other hand, Swift could have made other arrangements from his hospital bed by now. Maybe he’d had someone with a spare key pick the boy up. Maybe the slave had even taken the opportunity to walk off when his master wasn’t coming back. 

No, Roth thought, remembering Taven’s words, when Swift wasn’t using him, he’d always chained him up in the bathroom. 

Roth turned back, passed the kitchen and walked down the hallway to the closed bathroom door, put his ear to it, and listened. Yep, there was a faint rustle in there. He didn’t open it right away. In some ways, he’d worried the most about this part. He imagined the slave huddling in there, hearing someone breaking in, listening to a stranger sneaking about the place. The poor thing must be scared out of his mind already, and would probably not be less so if he just barged inside. 

He looked at the crowbar in his hand and put it down on the floor. Gathering himself, he reached for the handle and slowly opened the door, peeking inside. 

The slave was sitting on the tiled floor, wedged into the narrow space between the sink and the bathtub, knees drawn up to his chest, hugging himself, one ankle cuffed. The chain trailed across the whole floor, the other end fastened to an exposed pipe with a padlock. He stared at the intruder in utter terror, his tiny frame racked with tremors. 

Roth might not recognize the boy overall, but he vividly remembered those scared eyes. 

Yes, Roth realized, those eyes were why he hadn’t protested more strongly when Nickel had asked him to do this. Nickel had called it ‘a rescue’, and Roth had argued, no, in the eyes of the law it’s stealing, and nothing else, but there had been no conviction in his words. Nickel had claimed, since Swift had actually blackmailed the trader into giving him the boy, they could morally ignore the legality of the man’s ownership. Roth had shaken his head, but with no more conviction than before. 

Nickel was right. Fuck the law, and fuck Swift, he wasn’t going to walk away from these eyes a second time.

“Hi!” Roth said, trying to smile at the boy. “You don’t know me, but… I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m only going to…” Damn it, he thought, the boy looked even more scared when he spoke to him, flinching at every word. Explanations and assurances probably wouldn’t help here, and Roth didn’t have the time for careful coaxing. He just had to do this, and try to talk to the poor thing later. 

Roth fetched the crowbar and easily broke the padlock. He gathered the chain, crouched down in front the boy and held the coil out to him. “You have to come with me now, boy,” he said, trying to sound friendly and encouraging. “We’re gonna take a little walk you and I, and you’ll have to hold the chain, so you won’t trip on it.”

He didn’t take the chain, and didn’t move from his huddled position. The boy wouldn’t be the type of slave who disobeyed you, Roth thought, and that meant the poor thing was literally paralyzed with fear. “Don’t be scared,” Roth tried, standing up and taking the boy by the arm as carefully and gently as he could. “Told you, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m going to take you to a much better place, you’ll see.”

The slave made no trouble whatsoever when Roth pulled him to his feet, walked him out of the apartment and down the stairs. He simply followed meekly, obediently holding the coil of chain now in a white-knuckled two-hand grip. 

Roth had parked the car a few minutes away and walked calmly down the street, trying to act as if he hadn’t just premiered as a burglar. The slave silently followed on bare feet, head bowed. He was dressed in a pair of threadbare shorts and an old washed out t-shirt that probably didn’t do much against the night chill. Roth was happy he was actually wearing anything at all. 

The short car ride back to his place was silent. It was eerie how the boy hadn’t even once as much as _tried_ to question where they were going, why a complete stranger had taken him, and what would happen to him. Well, there’s a well-mannered slave for you, Roth thought. 

He took the boy up to his apartment and had him sit down by the table in the kitchen. The slave obeyed listlessly, not looking about. Wasn’t he curious at where he was, Roth wondered, wasn’t he even going to try to sneak a peek at his surroundings? The boy didn’t, only shivered as before, his head seemingly perpetually bowed.

Roth didn’t know what to make of the boy’s docility. Annoyed as he had often been with Taven’s sulky and rude behavior, he now sorely missed it. Taven’s acting out and bad manners at least gave a man something to deal with.

Well, he would deal with the practical matters. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the boy must be starving. He’d been chained up in that bathroom for… God knows how long. The slave would have been able to drink water, but Roth had seen no evidence of Swift leaving him anything to eat. He would fix that, right away.

While Roth was making sandwiches, Missy came into the kitchen and circled his legs, begging for a treat. He cut a piece of sausage and gave it to her, and then cut another piece and tossed it across the floor, to lure her away when she wouldn’t stop clawing at his legs for more goodies. It landed under the kitchen table and she leapt after it as if she was pouncing at a zebra on the savannah. Roth grinned, every house cat, a lion. He turned back to the sandwiches.

Only seconds later, a loud gasp startled him, or maybe a choked scream, desperately held back. He spun around. The boy stared in wordless fear, mouth open; his hands shaking so badly the chain rattled. Roth couldn’t see what was wrong, until he noticed Missy rubbing against the boy’s bare legs. 

He quickly snatched up the old cat in his arms and carried her over to the bedroom, closing the door on her. The same fear, Roth thought. The same fear of furry animals…

Roth didn’t mention the incident when he came back, and the boy seemed to have gathered quickly, sitting as before, eyes demurely lowered, hands to his chest, holding the chain. 

He finished making the sandwiches, put them on a plate and placed it in front the boy together with a big glass of milk. “Here you are,” he said. “You must be hungry, right?” 

The boy dared look up just a fraction, staring at the sandwiches with large eyes, but he didn’t make a move to touch them. 

“It’s all right,” Roth said. “They’re for you.” 

The slave looked down at the coiled chain in his hands with a sort of desperation, and not until then did Roth realize the boy was still holding on to it only because he’d never ordered him to let go. Roth was giving him ‘contradicting orders’. 

He couldn’t help the sigh. “Let go of the chain, boy,” he said, trying to sound as patient and non-confusing as he could. “Drop the chain on the floor, and eat!”

The slave obeyed instantly.

Roth joined the boy at the table. The little slave was obviously trying his hardest to mind his manners and eat the sandwiches neatly, but he was so hungry he constantly failed. It was heartbreaking to watch him flinch at every piece of cheese that happened to fall on the plate, and how he desperately tried to catch every crumb with shaking hands in his efforts not to make a mess.

Hunger still seemed to conquer fear. He ate it all.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” Roth smiled.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” the boy answered. He bowed his head so deeply he nearly banged his forehead on the tabletop.

Roth was relieved to hear the soft shy words of gratitude. He’d started to fear the boy couldn’t speak. “You’re welcome,” he said. “So, what’s your name, boy?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know, Sir,” was the unexpected answer.

Roth raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Master says, I get a name when I deserve it, Sir,” he answered.

“But, you had a name before Swift, right?”

“Master says…”

“Yeah, I don’t care what Swift says,” Roth interrupted. “It’s like this, boy, Swift isn’t your master anymore. You’ll never have to see the bastard again, so just forget what he says. Of course you deserve your name, and I for one would very much like to know it.” He smiled, trying to hide his anger. It wasn’t the slave he was angry with, after all. 

“Yes, Sir,” the boy said, shrinking before him.

“So, do you remember what it was then, before…?” Roth carefully prodded.

“It… It- it was ‘Silas’, Sir,” the boy finally answered, hunching over his words as if he was afraid Swift was going to emerge from the shadows and beat him half to death for daring to speak his name. 

“Ah, there you go,” Roth said. “Silas? It’s a nice name. So, you’re thirteen years old, right?”

Silas was quiet for the longest time. “…t- turned fourteen, Sir,” he finally managed, head hanging deeper, shaking. 

Good God, the slave hardly dared contradict him with a simple fact. Well, but it showed the boy was more aware of his surroundings than his cowed behavior seemed to indicate. He obviously kept track of the days, and knew his birthday had come and gone. Maybe he would understand if Roth tried to explain his situation.

“My name’s Roth,” he said, trying to think of how to put this. He couldn’t very well tell the slave he had stolen him. “I work for a lord,” he continued. “You know about lords and ladies, right? You were trained to serve the clans. Well, you see, it was, sort of, a big mistake someone like Swift bought you, but now we’ve fixed it, and a lord has bought you instead.”

The boy didn’t look up, but it was clear he was listening intently now. 

“Your new owner, well, he’s a real nice man, nothing like Swift at all. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you out to his mansion.”

“Yes, Sir,” the boy said, politely but blankly. 

Silas didn’t believe him, Roth thought. Yeah, he supposed he wouldn’t have either. What legal transfer of ownership would involve breaking down doors in the middle of the night? No, this boy was obviously no fool; he understood something strange was going on. Well, the slave would soon see for himself that at least the ‘nice lord part’ _was_ true. 

“All right,” Roth said. “It’s getting late, it’s time for bed, I guess.” It was almost one o’clock in the morning, and he supposed they could both do with some sleep. Besides, he had no idea what else to say to the boy. He’d gladly let Nickel take care of this one. “I’ll go get some clean sheets for the couch,” he said, getting up from the chair. “Why don’t you go out to the living room and wait for me. It’s just through there?”

He pointed and the boy obeyed without hesitation. Silently he got up from the chair, carefully pushing it back against the table. He bowed deeply, snatched the chain up, and left the kitchen.

Roth shook his head. He hoped Nickel’s workers had a hacksaw, or something similar, in that huge garage out there, so they could rid the poor thing of that cuff and chain as soon as possible. 

He went back to his bedroom to get some sheets.

\-----o0o-----

It wasn’t until Roth stepped into the living room with the bed linen that he realized how Silas had interpreted ‘it’s time for bed’.

The boy waited in the middle of the room, stripped bare, his threadbare clothes placed at his feet in a tiny, perfectly folded pile. He just stood there, demurely looking down, his hands crossed at the small of his back, the chain wrapped around his ankle, and he had taken his hair out of the tight braid and arranged the long tresses over his narrow shoulders.

Every fiber of his being spoke to Roth as clearly as words. ‘Here’s my body for you to use.’ 

The bunch of sheets and pillows fell out of Roth’s hands.

He just standing there, stunned, was maybe not the reaction Silas had expected. The boy looked increasingly worried, and when Roth still neither said anything, nor made a move, he finally threw himself to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floorboards. He didn’t beg or plead, but the bony arched back spoke plenty through its uncontrollable shivers and trembles. He was terrified he’d done something bad.

Roth’s head was spinning. “Oh God,” he blurted out. ”Oh, my fucking God!”

The naked child before him shrank into a virtual nothing at his feet, whimpering in terror at his voice, and Roth simply couldn’t take it anymore, he literally ran out of the room and fled into the bathroom. He’d hardly pulled the door closed behind him before he leaned over the toilet and puked like a sick dog. 

Shaking in the aftermath of the violent spasms, he turned, closed the lid and sat down on the toilet, automatically reaching for some toilet paper to blow his nose with. 

He knew, he told himself, he fucking well _knew_ what they had done to that boy out there. Roth knew what they had done to Taven, and what happened to countless others, every day. Hell, some poor kid out there was probably being raped right now, while he was sitting here trying to swallow through his sore throat. It wasn’t that he didn’t fucking know, and still…

Somehow, he’d always managed not to let things get to him too much. 

Yes, of course he was disgusted and horrified, hearing about stuff. Of course, he was angry and upset. He sure as hell wished all things bad on lowlife scum like Swift, who seemed to be completely devoid of human compassion, but he’d always managed to keep a distance. 

Earlier, his boss had put him on the spot, asking Roth if he considered him a weakling, basically. Roth hadn’t admitted to it in so many words, but in some ways, he probably did. He didn’t mean any disrespect though, he really didn’t. It was only he’d started to consider Nickel the little brother he’d never had, sort of. Roth had become protective of him in a way that clearly went beyond the concerns of a hired bodyguard. 

Maybe, in spite of his working class pride, he’d also needed to compensate for the fact his young friend _was_ a clan lord. It wasn’t entirely uncomplicated to uphold a friendship with someone who was so much higher above you on the social ladder, and was rich like a fucking dragon with a hoard to boot. However, Roth had always felt he could hold his own against this blue blood and old money, only with the undeniable fact he was both bigger and stronger than Nickel, and considerably more street smart, as well. Yeah, Nickel might be privileged and sophisticated, but the young lord looked up to _him_. Nickel listened to him, relied on his knowledge and experience; admired him, sought his advice and support. It was Nickel who’d insisted on friendship, and _Roth_ was the strong one. 

This image was to some extent being shattered, and it wasn’t mainly because Nickel had kicked the shit out of a guy Roth himself would have thought twice about taking on. Impressed as Roth might be on some level, the young lord _had_ had the element of surprise on his side and in other circumstances Swift would probably have smashed him through the floor. 

No, it was realizing Nickel’s inner strength and character might in fact surpass his own.

Literally facing the naked truth in his own home, that child offering himself so blatantly, simply accepting what he thought Roth would do to him... The kid’s terror when he believed he’d somehow offended… For the first time Roth had been completely unable to distance himself, and how had he reacted? He’d fled. 

Nickel never fled, did he? 

Roth understood Nickel’s feelings much better now, having to deal with Taven’s physical and mental problems on a daily basis. He had a better appreciation of how hard it must sometimes be, especially since his boss wasn’t nearly as good at distancing himself. Yet, Nickel didn’t give up on the kid, and simply dealt with whatever was thrown his way, while _he_ was hiding in the bathroom like some big fucking coward. 

He got up from the toilet seat, determined to follow his boss’ example and fucking _deal_. He quickly brushed his teeth to get rid of the taste of vomit, and steeled himself to face Silas. 

The boy didn’t seem to have moved an inch while he’d been gone. He was still kneeling with his face in the floorboards, shivering badly. It sure didn’t make Roth feel better. It was inexcusable leaving the poor thing in this state.

Roth forced himself to act. He quickly made a messy sort of bed on the couch before leaning over the boy and gently taking him by the shoulders, trying to ignore how the slave practically turned to ice in his hands. 

“Come up off the floor, Silas,” he said. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and nothing bad will happen to you. You misunderstood the whole thing. I never meant to… I was never gonna use you like that. That’s not stuff I do, you understand?” He steered the boy toward the couch, babbling all the way. “I know you don’t believe me, boy, but those days are over, and you don’t have to do that, ever again. I promise! Look, I made a bed for you, for you only, and only for sleeping, you understand?” He had the boy lie down and speedily covered up the vulnerable nakedness with a sheet, trying not to look. He retreated from the couch, holding his hands up. “I’m not gonna be in here, and I won’t touch you. I swear!”

Silas didn’t say a word, and simply obediently stayed where he was put.

Roth left the room and went to bed, having no idea if he’d made things better, or worse. He didn’t sleep well.

\-----o0o-----

Taven woke with a start, wanting to fight the strong arms holding him trapped, but then he realized... It was only Nickel, sleeping in _his_ bed. He let out a sigh of relief.

His heart rate slowing down to normal, he carefully turned in Nickel’s tight hug to watch the man sleep. Most mornings Taven woke up before his master, and it had started to become somewhat of a habit. Of course, there was always that moment of anxiety when Nickel was close to waking up. What would be in the man’s eyes? Disgust, regret, boredom…? The relief was always worth the fear. None of those things were ever there. 

This morning the simple pleasure was interrupted. His master bolted up in bed at the loud sound of a door banging shut in the corridor outside, and looked about in confusion. Then he seemed to remember, too.

“Ah, yes, I stayed down here last night, didn’t I?” he said, frowning as the noise continued outside the door, the house slaves starting their day. “How can you sleep in this ruckus?” he asked. 

Taven only shrugged his shoulders. He was used to it.

Nickel still frowned. “I really shouldn’t let them see that I… Hm, I seem to be trapped in here for the moment.” He turned, smiling. “I’m afraid I have to impose on your hospitality a bit longer, and make use of your bathroom as well.” He stretched and yawned, threw the covers aside, got out of the bed, and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Taven stayed, thinking Nickel was only going to take a piss and soon return to him, but was surprised to hear the unmistakable sound of someone running a bath. He got out of bed, too, knocking on the bathroom door. 

“Yes?” his master’s voice came over the sound of splashing water.

Taven opened a small crack, shyly peeking inside. “Uh, Master, are you really gonna… I mean, in _here_?” 

“Yes, why not?” Nickel answered. “Do come inside, boy,” he added. “You’re letting the heat out.”

Taven obeyed, closing the bathroom door properly behind him, awkwardly shifting feet, not knowing where to look. It wasn’t that his master was sitting naked in the tub; he’d seen the man without clothes before, it was only, he _was_ supposed to clean his own room, but he wasn’t overly good at it. His less than squeaky-clean bathtub wasn’t something that bothered _him_, but he was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be fit for a lord. Well, if Nickel hadn’t noticed, he sure as hell wasn’t going to point it out. 

His master was vigorously lathering up a bath sponge with a bar of soap, but seemed to change his mind about cleaning himself. He held the sponge out to him. “Scrub my back!” he ordered. 

Taven took the sponge and nervously reached for the man’s back. His master had never told him to do stuff like this before. Nickel leaned forward to give him better access and Taven put the sponge’s soft side to the lean-muscled back and started to move it around in small circles. 

“Oh, you can scrub much harder,” Nickel said. “Use the rough side. I’m not made of glass, you know.” 

Taven obeyed, and when his master didn’t complain, he finally put some real force in it. He put a hand on the edge of the tub for leverage and leaned over Nickel’s back, scrubbing it red. 

His braid slipped over his shoulder at the movements and fell into the water.

“Oops,” Nickel said, grinning at him. He picked up the braid and shook it. “Look what you did. Got it all wet.”

He meant to flip the braid back, but Nickel held on to it, playfully pulling, forcing him to lean down farther. When Taven’s face was close enough, Nickel tilted his head back and kissed him.

Taven quite forgot to scrub his master’s back.

The kiss didn’t last long. His master broke it and looked up at him with a frown. “Do you really enjoy this?” he asked. “I mean, do you _truly_ like it?”

Taven could have screamed. Why did his master keep doing this? What was he doing wrong that the man would stop things every fucking time he thought he’d been given a chance to prove himself? Why the fuck was it so damn important to the man what he was thinking? He _wanted_ to serve, he fucking wanted to serve this master as best he could, and he would do whatever the man told him. Why was this never enough? 

In his desperation to make sense of things, Taven thought he started to get something, after all. Free men, they liked all sorts of different stuff. Right? Many people Swift had brought to the apartment had had ‘special interests’, and needed to do all sorts of weird shit to get off. Yeah, Taven thought, if he simply viewed his master’s behavior as some kind of kink, it, sort of, did make sense. His master wanted the slaves he used for sex to _like_ what he did to them, so… Did this mean he’d _get off_ on people enjoying themselves and being turned on, too? Was that it?

Taven looked down at his master who was still waiting for an answer. “I like it, Master,” he said, trying to sound as serious as he could. “I ain’t lying,” he added. “Honest!” Fuck, he didn’t even have to lie. Not about everything, the kissing _was_ nice.

Nickel’s worried expression changed into a smile. He put a wet hand at Taven’s neck and pulled him in for another deep kiss, and this time he broke it only to tell Taven to join him in the tub. 

Excited at the opportunity, Taven obeyed, shedding his pajamas in seconds. Finally, he was doing things right, and was pleasing his owner. He could see it in the man’s eyes, hearing it in his voice… Nickel was _pleased_. Taven winced as he stepped into the hot water and sank down between Nickel’s legs, leaning back against his master’s chest. He couldn’t wait to tell Serenity. 

Nickel put his arms around him, and started to nibble at his ear and neck. Taven could feel the man’s cock hardening against the small of his back, but Nickel wasn’t trying to fuck him. He only slowly rubbed against him, his hands softly caressing Taven’s chest.

Taven went limp and heavy in his master’s arms. He’d never felt this at ease before, not with a free man touching him like this, and it really was the weirdest thing. Maybe it was because the cramped space in the tub made it less likely his master would actually penetrate him – something that still scared him, no matter his intent to serve well – or maybe it was the fact they were in _his_ room, and not in the fancy bedroom upstairs. Maybe it was because this man had kicked another free man in the face, only for hurting him. Perhaps it was the hot water filling the small windowless space with steam, making him pliable, and his scars less sensitive. 

Whatever the reason, Taven closed his eyes and gave in to it. In fact, he forgot he should be serving at all, and passively rested in Nickel’s arms, letting his master touch him as he pleased. Nickel sucked at his earlobe, reached a hand down between his legs and put his fingers around his cock, slowly and gently pulling and stroking.

Taven had no idea what was happening, he was losing himself in the sensations and hardly realized the labored breathing and moans were his own, or how hard his cock was, before he suddenly arched his back and came all over his own stomach. He slumped back into his master’s arms, listless, head swimming, astonished. Taven had never thought he’d do something like that, but it had happened so fast and totally beyond his control.

A tidal wave of confusing and contradictory feelings crashed over him without warning. 

Taven jerked himself out of Nickel’s embrace, leaned over his pulled up knees, and burst out weeping. He didn’t understand himself where the tears came from, but there was no way he could stop them. 

Nickel tentatively touched at his shoulders. “Taven? What’s wrong? I thought you liked how I… Did I hurt you? What did I do?”

Taven beat the water with his fist in frustration. “It ain’t you,” he yelled. “Ain’t nothing you did.”

“But… What is it then? You can tell me. You can always tell me, you know that, don’t you?”

Taven wanted to scream. How could he explain to his master when he hardly understood the reaction himself? “I… I…” he tried, sobbing making it hard to speak. ”I never fucking got it… I never got it how fucking _bad_ this was before. I just never knew… I didn’t know, Master…” He hid his face in his hands and cried bitterly.

Nickel squeezed his shoulders. “Oh,” he said. “I see… I… I see…”

Taven couldn’t stop crying. His master finally got them both out of the tub, drained the water and dried them off. Nickel took him out to his bed and laid them both down. His master held him close, caressed him over the head, and didn’t scold him for his stupid behavior.

“It’s all right, Taven,” he said. “I understand. You have a whole life to mourn. I understand.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven sat on a bench in his favorite spot in the gardens, the one with the small fountain. The lessons were over for today, and he was free to sit wherever he wanted, to listen to the water, and think.

He was still confused about this morning. 

It had started so well. Taven had thought he finally understood what his master wanted, but then he’d completely broken down in the tub, and ruined the whole thing. His master had wanted sex, and he’d meant to serve, he really had, but it had ended with Nickel having to comfort him instead, and not getting anything out of it himself. 

Taven was really rather ashamed about that. 

Strange enough, Nickel hadn’t been angry or displeased, quite the other way around. The man had claimed he was happy Taven had ‘opened up’ to him. 

Really, his master was pleased with the weirdest shit, but he _had_ said so. He’d said it was a ‘good starting point for healing’, and that from now on, things would be better.

Taven made a face, but then smiled. It didn’t matter how weird his master was, or how difficult it was to understand him. Nickel _was_ both pleased and happy with him; Taven had sensed the truth in this. With such an outcome, he would be nuts to question things, and maybe things really would be better now. 

For the first time since Taven had been pushed outside the entry doors of the slave market, and had had nowhere else to go than to that weird ass of a lord who had bought him, he dared hope he actually had a home here. 

Yes, in spite of it all, things were good, and, maybe he was even… happy? 

One of the housemaids came walking across the lawn, which surprised Taven. _He_ was given time to spend out here, and the gardeners were about most every day, of course, but he’d never seen any of the other slaves being afforded this privilege. It soon enough became clear, though, she’d only been sent out to locate him.

She stopped when she spotted him, not bothering to come all the way up to the garden bench. “Master wants you in the study,” she shouted, pointing back to the house. “Right away!” She didn’t wait to see if he would come, turning back to the house and walking off in a hurry.

Taven waited until she was way ahead of him before getting up from the bench. He didn’t need directions anymore, and didn’t want the company in any case. He strolled back to the house with a growing sense of unease. The study? Why the study? There was only ever serious stuff taking place in that room. Was his master displeased, after all? 

He knocked on the door and stepped inside at his master’s voice. Taven had had no idea what to expect, walking over here, but it wasn’t… this.

His master stood in the middle of the room, smiling. Mr. Roth was there, too, at the man’s side, looking serious, and in front of them…

Taven stared. There was a slave in there too, a boy Taven was sure he’d never seen here before. He might not know, or even recognize, most of the slaves living out their life of servitude at the Wren estate, but _this_ one he would have remembered. This was no house slave, or worker, this was a slave like himself.

No, not quite like himself, _better_ than him. 

This boy was clearly younger than he was, and he stood there so quiet and submissive, hands clasped behind his back, head demurely lowered. He had long hair, too, heavy chestnut locks trailing over his chest and shoulders, reaching his waist. For only a second the new boy dared look up to see who had come inside, and Taven gasped. The boy had the cutest doll face ever, his lips full, and his eyes huge and dark.

Taven wanted to throw up. 

His master put a pair of protective hands on the new boy’s shoulders. “This is Silas,” the man said, and his voice appeared to Taven as if it came from the other end of a mile long tunnel. “He’s going to stay with us.”


	48. An Altercation in the Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just isn't Taven's day...
> 
> /Fran

Taven was rarely left to his own devices in the classroom, thus he’d never realized you had a great view of the front of the mansion from up here in the attic. He’d been given assignments, of course, that his master had claimed he trusted him to finish on his own, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate, or even stay in his chair. 

He was watching his master down there in the front yard with the new boy, waiting for a car. Nickel put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and leaned down to talk to him. Taven didn’t want to know how he was probably comforting the boy, telling him the visit to Dr. Cordeaux was nothing to fear, but he couldn’t look away either. After only a minute or two, some gangly slave boy from the garage brought the car, awkwardly bowing as he traded places with their master behind the wheel before running back. 

Nickel drove through the large front gates, down the avenue, out on the main road, and disappeared in the distance.

Taven turned away from the window and sat down at his desk, but the books were left unopened. What the hell was the point of learning more stuff? He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, what the hell was the point of _anything_ anymore, and how could things have turned so bad only since yesterday?

His master had noted his shocked silence at being introduced to the new boy and had taken him aside to explain. Nickel’s story hadn’t made him less shocked. Head swimming, Taven had learned that when Swift dumped him at the slave market all those months ago, he hadn’t left the place empty handed. Apparently, the trader had given him another longhair exotic instead, a younger and fresher one, obviously, and the little exotic in the study was this very same slave. His master had smiled excitedly and said something about Mr. Roth ‘rescuing’ the kid and wanting to give him a ‘good home’, but Taven had stopped listening. The only thing fully registering with his stunned mind was how a slave, who had already replaced him once, was now _here, too_. 

Nickel hadn’t spoken of replacing him and at night, he’d been ordered upstairs, as usual, but things had felt different. His master had been nice to him, but still seemed distant, somehow, and hadn’t tried to be intimate with him again, or holding him close, like the night before. The man had soon fallen asleep, leaving him to brood over the implications half the night. 

Things seemed much clearer to Taven this morning. It was fucking obvious really, and he was only fooling himself if he thought his master not telling him straight up, or not changing their usual schedule yet, meant he _wasn’t_ going to be discarded. If they came back from the doctor and the boy was clean, Taven probably wouldn’t last the day. 

Taven collapsed over the desk and hid his head under his arms, too depressed to cry even. He’d fucked up one too many times. How could he have ever thought he would make it, when fucking _Serenity_ hadn’t? 

However, maybe Serenity and he had both been doomed from the start anyway, in spite of the blond slave’s beauty and Taven’s unusual hair, and there was nothing any of them could have done. The new boy was so damn young, around twelve, Taven thought, and, so that’s what Nickel wanted, after all, like so many other free men. 

Serenity was twenty-three for fuck’s sake, much too old, no matter how he looked, and Taven was rapidly getting too old, as well. He’d seen the hairs in his face, and was almost obsessed by the growth, patchy and soft as it was, tracking the progress in his bathroom mirror every day. He didn’t know how to get rid of it, and constantly worried Nickel would notice.

Obviously, he’d noticed. 

It hurt even more admitting to himself he wouldn’t stand a chance even if he _had_ been younger and devoid of facial hair. It didn’t matter what aspect of a personal slave and fucktoy he considered, he would come up short in comparison with the new boy. He’d never had even close to that kind of cute doll face, rosy cheeks, big dark eyes, and all. The features of his face were sharper and his lips much thinner, his eyes not nearly as big and vibrant. The fact he was a redhead might make his hair interesting, but it made the rest of him sickly pale, bland and colorless, his numerous freckles banning him from ever enticing a master with a velvety complexion. He didn’t even want to think about the bad pimples he sometimes had. Taven bet the new kid never had any damn fucking pimples. 

If only the new boy hadn’t also been a longhair exotic, Taven might still have had _something_ to his advantage, but in spite of having the longer hair, he came up short on this, too. His lanky orange strands were nothing compared to the rich dark curls on that boy’s head. How long before Nickel would want to spread_ that_ over his pillows. 

It wasn’t even the worst. 

Under the circumstances, the new boy had been acquired as impulsively as himself. His master had had no proper clothing for the little slave, and so, Taven had to give him some of his. Nickel had brought them both to Taven’s room, and had had the boy take a shower while he picked out some of Taven’s stuff. Taven had seen the boy in the nude, coming out from the bathroom, and… 

He’d looked completely normal. 

Taven had seen a few bruises, but there had been no scars or cuts of any kind. There had been no cigarette burns, and definitely no fucking tattoo, only smooth, unharmed skin. Swift had owned this kid, too, but hadn’t hurt him? Why? 

He didn’t think he’d ever felt as worthless as he did in that moment. 

Nickel had told the newly dressed slave they would go find him a place to sleep, and the boy had bowed and followed meekly, their master smiling and looking pleased at the submissive manners. 

Left behind in his room, Taven had been awash in memories of his own arrival here, and how different it had been. He could neither deny nor excuse just how bad he’d behaved that day, and how much trouble he’d caused his master ever since. 

Yes, Taven thought, where he was still lying across his desk, the books pushed away and forgotten, it had hit home then what his master had really been looking for at the slave market. Nickel had bought him instead, because… Because he’d felt sorry for him, that was all. His master was nice that way, but Taven still wasn’t what the man had been looking for, and now the mistake had been corrected.

Nickel had finally found the young, unmarked, cute and well-behaved boy he’d wanted all along, and no longer needed to put such hopeless effort into fixing up low quality goods.

\-----o0o-----

”Where the hell have you been?” 

For three days, Roth had been trying to get hold of Simon, without success, and when Simon finally called, he couldn’t hold back the frustrated anger.

“Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Roth,” Simon replied. “If you must know, I’ve been to a traffic conference.”

“A traffic conference?” A fucking _traffic conference_? Those assholes at the precinct couldn’t have told him that? “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “It was held at a ski resort in the mountains. The coverage is notoriously bad up there, and I turned off my phone on the way up in any case, simply needed the time off... Well, I didn’t get your messages.”

“Things have happened down here, you know,” Roth scolded, ignoring the excuses.

“So I’ve been told. Remind me, Mr. Roth; did you or did you not tell me your boss wanted to stay within legal means only? Can you explain to me why on earth he would look up Swift and _attack_ him?”

“Lord Wren didn’t ‘look up’ Swift,” Roth protested. “He ran into him by pure chance and simply lost his temper. Had he known of our plans there is no way he would have risked them, but _you_ wouldn’t let me speak to him, and…”

“It was a coincidence you say? Well, it’s not my only concern, Mr. Roth. I’m starting to think there’s something fishy about your story overall. You claimed Lord Wren’s reasons are personal, but when we questioned Swift at the hospital, he had no idea who attacked him. He claims he’s never seen Lord Wren in his life, or even heard of him. Is he lying?”

Roth sighed. “No, he isn’t.”

“Then explain this to me.”

“Look, chief, it’s complicated. “It _is_ personal, but not… My boss isn’t pursuing this on his own behalf. Swift hurt someone who’s recently become very close to Lord Wren, and…It’s true, Swift and my boss _doesn’t_ know each other, and Swift has no idea this person he hurt in the past is now in my boss’ care, and… Swift hurt him real fucking badly, Simon, so bad my boss wants revenge on Swift without ever having even met him. He wants Swift off the street, so he can never hurt anyone that badly again.”

Simon was quiet on the phone for a few heartbeats. “I see,” he finally said. “Well, whatever his reasons, I’m afraid it’s too late.” 

“Fuck!” Roth swore. “I knew it! What happened?” 

“We’re not sure. What we do know is that the flower shop owner got spooked. She closed up early and tried to take off with the stuff. My men were forced to move in. This was yesterday, and Swift was released from hospital this morning, so… I’m sorry, Mr. Roth, we missed him. Maybe Swift thought your boss’ attack on him was linked, and somehow managed to get a message through to her, or she became suspicious about your visit when she heard Swift had ended up in hospital, and decided on her own to split. We don’t know. We tapped her phones, of course, but heard nothing to shed some light on it.”

“Damn!” Roth swore. “What about the shop owner? Can we get her to testify against Swift?”

”She isn’t cooperating, and it isn’t likely to change. Believe me; she’s fully prepared to take the rap for this, she won’t testify against him.”

“Yeah, of course she isn’t cooperating. Swift’s a fucking brute, she’ll be terrified. If you offer her protection though, you could work out some kind of deal, and…”

“We’ve already tried,” Simon interrupted. “She’s not buying it. There’s more to this than first meets the eye, Mr. Roth. Checking up on her, I’ve found out the interesting fact her maiden name is… Swift.”

Roth groaned. “What the fuck. She’s a relative?” 

“Yep! She’s James Swift’s paternal aunt. In fact, she’s his only living relative, and he lived with her and her late husband as a foster child in his teens. He had to move out at eighteen after having beaten the husband within an inch of his life. Claimed the man had sexually assaulted him as a kid, but it was never taken to court. If anyone knows what he’s capable of, it’s she. In any case, there’s both fear and family loyalty involved here. We’ll keep pressing her, but I don’t have much hope. Well, what I’m trying to say is that our plan failed, Mr. Roth. At the moment we have no evidence against Swift, and no cause for arrest.” 

“I saw him coming out of the store with the same kind of flowers she gave me. I can testify.” Roth knew he was grasping at straws.

“He visited his _aunt’s_ shop. That’s not much to go on. Of course we both know he’s the brains behind this, but we can’t prove it in court.”

“The drugs…?”

“Only yours and her fingerprints on the zip bag you brought, and the rest… Only hers.”

“Fuck,” Roth swore. “Fuck!”

\-----o0o-----

Taven kept going to the window. He didn’t want to miss when his master came back, and as soon as he spotted the car coming up the avenue he left the classroom and fled out into the gardens. The man damn well had to go look for him if he wanted to give him the bad news. He wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for it.

He ended up in his usual spot, slumping down on the old green garden bench with the awful feeling it might be the last time. To think he’d been sitting in this same spot only yesterday, planning to tell Serenity how he’d finally learned to give his master what he wanted, as the tall slave had advised him. He was so fucking stupid. Taven could never give his owner what he wanted, because _he_ wasn’t what the man wanted. 

Realizing this, Taven couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled his knees up against his chest, hid his face, and started to cry. 

“What is this?” A sudden strict voice said behind him. “What are you doing here? Who are…? Are you crying?”

Taven sprang up from the bench and spun around. It was an old man with a big belly, in work wear, holding some weird looking kind of scissors in a gloved hand. The Head Gardener? Taven was surprised. Though he’d often witnessed from afar how the fat bastard yelled at the other gardeners and whacked their legs with the handle of whatever tool he happened to hold, the trusty had never before come up, or talked, to _him_. Taven’s face went hot with both anger and self-conscious shame, and he quickly tried to dry his face of the embarrassing tears.

It _was_ embarrassing someone had caught him crying like a fucking baby when he’d thought he was all alone, but worse still, one of the workers confronting him seemed to confirm all his fears. It was clearly only out of respect for their owner’s personal belongings the other slaves around here left him alone. The Head Gardener daring to rebuke him for sitting here told him everybody else had rapidly come to the same conclusion as him. He had been replaced, and was no longer a favorite in this house. 

The old asshole peered at him with suspicious eyes. “Who _are_…?”

“Fuck off!” Taven yelled. Interrupting whatever reprimands the old slave had intended to heap on him. Come what may, he wasn’t going to take shit from the other slaves. “I said, Fuck off, and leave me the fuck alone, you bastard!” he screamed, the man staring at him in stunned silence. “Fucking ass…”

The Head Gardener’s shock was nothing compared to Taven’s when his angry yells was abruptly cut short by a forceful jerk on his arm. 

“Taven! _What_ are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

Taven froze. Nickel? He hadn’t heard his master coming up behind him. 

“_What_ is the meaning of this?” The old man bellowed, seemingly getting his wits about him again after the initial shock. “Who does this slave belong to? What is going on here? Well?” he roared.

Taven stared. The old worker was _yelling at his master_, demanding to know what was going on… Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. His master even backed away. How could that be? Taven just didn’t understand. Nickel couldn’t be afraid of his own slave.

“Father, when did you…? I’m so sorry. I’m… I- I… I’ll explain… I’ll explain everything. I’m only going to… Please, father, let me take care of this, and I’ll…”

At this, his master simply turned and walked away from the old man, pulling a stunned and stumbling Taven with him.

“Nickel,” the old man yelled behind them. “Nickel, don’t you dare walk away from me! Come back here, right this instant!”

His master didn’t, only walked faster, angrily staring straight ahead. 

Father? 

Taven was in complete shock. _That_ was his owner’s father? The Head Lord himself? How? How could that be? Somehow, Taven’s confused mind refused to believe what he’d just heard. That wasn’t his master’s father; it was the old Head _Gardener_. He’d had grass stains on the knees of his pants, and carried tools, and all. It couldn’t be the Head _Lord_, it just couldn’t. 

“Master…” he tried.

“Shut up, slave!” the man growled, the grip of his arm tightening. “Not a word, you understand? I don’t want to hear another word out of that foul mouth of yours, do I make myself clear?”

Oh, he was terrifyingly clear. Taven didn’t try again. 

His master brought him down to his room, furiously pushing the door open, and him inside. “Kneel!” he ordered.

Taven didn’t even have to obey consciously; his legs wouldn’t have supported him anyway. He sunk down on the floor and clasped at his stomach

“Don’t you dare move until I get back!” the man growled, leaving the door open as he left. One of the maids pressed up against the wall when their master stormed down the corridor. She stared at Taven, mouth open, but then quickly ducked into her room, closing the door. 

Taven didn’t react to her stare. He was so devastated it wouldn’t have registered with him if the whole house had witnessed his humiliation. 

His master was back in much too short a time to have calmed from his frightening anger. The man stomped into his room, reached down to grab at his jaw and forced him to look up. 

He held the bit in his other hand. 

“I know I told you I wouldn’t use this as punishment, but… Consider this an exception, slave, because I want to make it very clear to you this was the _last_ time you _ever_ disrespected father in his own house. Open up!”

There was no way Taven would have dared disobey; he opened his mouth, closing his eyes tight. His master locked the bit in place, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him onto the bed. 

The man turned away from him and left for a second time, neither looking back, nor saying another word, only forcefully closing the door behind him. Taven flinched at the faint clicking sound that followed. For the first time since he’d been brought here, his master had locked the door.

\-----o0o-----

It had been hours, Taven thought, though he had no real way of knowing. 

After his master had left in anger, Taven had curled up on the bed on his side, and hadn’t moved since. The bit made saliva drip out of the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t even try wiping it off. Feeling numb and all but dead inside, he let the sheets soak it up. 

He deserved this, if only for being so fucking stupid. 

A while back, he had decided to try his best behaving for this master because he’d realized he had nothing to lose, but he hadn’t done his best, had he? No, he fucking hadn’t. Taven had kept testing, trying and provoking the man. 

What the fuck was wrong with him, what had he tried to prove? Had he wanted to show himself that all free men, no matter how kind and patient, had a limit? Well, congratulations, he’d just proven to himself that Nickel had a limit. 

Taven sorely regretted every bad thing he’d ever said or done in this house, and he no longer wanted to prove any kind of stupid fucking shit at all, to himself or anyone. 

If only his master would come back, forgive him, and let him stay, he’d change. He’d change and be just like the new boy, he would, but… 

It must be too late. Taven was convinced, this time, he _had_ gone too far.

\-----o0o-----

The sun set outside his window, the bars casting long shadows over the bed and the floor, but apart from taking a piss a while ago, his bladder threatening to burst, Taven hadn’t moved from his curled up position on the bed. 

Fear started to seep through the misery. He’d never wore the bit this long before, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. His master really wouldn’t just leave him like this, would he, letting him starve to death, or choke on the bit falling asleep? Nickel had been very angry, angrier than Taven had ever seen him before, but he wouldn’t be _that_ mean. Right? The man didn’t want to be like Swift, he’d said he didn’t. 

Taven rose on his elbow when he heard footsteps outside in the corridor. He’d heard people coming and going all day, but it had always turned out to be the house slaves. None of the steps had been coming up to his door. He listened with rapidly declining hope, not really believing they would belong to his master this time either.

Maybe it was just as well. _If_ Nickel came, it was probably only to escort him out of the house. 

He bolted up when he realized the steps hadn’t only stopped outside his door, but that there was a key turning in the look. His head was spinning. Oh, fuck, what should he do? If only he could speak, he could at least have begged for forgiveness, but his master had taken that option away from him, or, had he?

Taven hurried to scramble off the bed before the door opened and got on the floor, desperately trying to correctly position himself into a formal apology kneel. If only he could show how sorry he was, if only he could… Having his forehead pressed to the floorboards, he felt a faint rush of air in his hair from the door swinging open, and he reached out his pleading hands, palms up.

“Uh? Get up off the floor, boy! Come on, it’s just me. Get up!”

Mr. Roth?

Taven slowly got back up on his feet. His owner wouldn’t even do, whatever he meant to do, himself, but sent his bodyguard. The bitterness was almost too big to contain. Taven refused to look up at the large man. 

“I’m sorry, boy,” Mr. Roth said. “I know I’m probably not the one you wanted to see at the moment, but…”

The bodyguard walked around him, and put something down on his table. Taven heard a glass clink against the rim of a plate and felt the rich smell of meat stew. He’d brought food? 

Mr. Roth turned back to him, smiling. “You have to be starving,” he said. He looked down and seemed to check his pants pockets, finally pulling up something Taven immediately recognized as the key for the bit. “We have to get that thing out, right, or you can’t eat?”

Taven nodded, he couldn’t. 

“Okay, so… Uh, well… If you turn your head to the light, I’ll…” 

Taven opened his mouth and endured Mr. Roth’s fumbling and almost apologetic babbling.

“I checked the ‘how to’,” he said. “I should be able to… Yeah, just let me fiddle with this… Never done shit like this before… I’ll try to be quick…”

Somewhere inside of him there was still something that felt humiliated at the big bodyguard witnessing how he was being punished, and sticking his fingers into his mouth, but Taven was so relieved to get rid of the bit, he couldn’t conjure up any real bitterness about it. It was still less humiliating having Mr. Roth doing it, than one of the other slaves. 

Finally getting the bit out, the bodyguard looked at it, turning it around in the light, frowning. “What a fucking _God awful_ contraption,” he swore. “Well, I’m gonna wash off. Feel free to dig in,” he added, pointing at the tray and disappearing into his bathroom.

Taven stared at the tray. Dig in? He didn’t want any fucking food. His stomach might clench painfully at the sight and smell, but Taven didn’t care, he was too fucking miserable to fucking _eat_. He looked away from the meal, and sat down heavily at the bedside. 

Mr. Roth came back out soon enough, raising an eyebrow at the untouched tray. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

Taven shook his head. “I don’t want any damn food,” he said. “I just wanna fucking _die_.” 

Mr. Roth sighed. He came up to bed and sat down beside him. “Hey,” he said. “Wanting to die is taking things a bit too far, don’t you think?” 

“Like I ain’t gonna die anyway for this, in some way or other,” Taven said, looking away. “Do you _know_ what I did?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Mr. Roth said. “I gotta say, boy, yelling at a Head Lord and tell him to ‘fuck off’ might not be the smartest thing you’ve ever done, but believe me, you’re not gonna die for it. You have to know Nickel would never allow that.” 

“He’s gonna throw me out,” Taven said. “It’s the same thing.”

Mr. Roth gave up a snorting laugh. “Throw you out? Come on, boy, don’t be silly! Has he said he’ll throw you out? No? Then why would you even say that?”

Taven was annoyed, wasn’t it fucking obvious. “He’s gotten a new boy,” he spat. 

“Silas?” Mr. Roth chuckled. “He’s not his ‘new boy’. I thought he told you where I got him. Forget Silas,” Mr. Roth said. “He’s not the one you have to worry about. Nickel’s _father_ is who you have to worry about.”

Taven doubled over and hid his face in his hands. “I didn’t know, Mr. Roth,” he yelled in desperation. “How the hell could I have fucking known it was his dad? You couldn’t fucking tell. I swear, you couldn’t tell. He- he had, like, dirty work clothes on, and- and… I thought he was the gardener. Have you _seen_ that old asshole? He fucking looks _just_ like that. Why the hell would a lord dress like a worker? That- that ain’t fucking _fair_. It’s like fucking tricking people.” 

Mr. Roth sighed again and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. “Yeah, I’ve seen the Head Gardener, and I suppose he does remind quite a bit of the old lord. No one was trying to trick you, boy. Nickel’s father is very interested in gardening. It’s like his hobby; know what I mean? He enjoys doing some of the work himself. Coming home, that’s usually the first thing he does, inspect his old gardens, and not even a lord would go trimming the roses in his finest. I get it boy, you couldn’t have known, but… 

“Let this be a lesson to you. If you could learn to treat _all_ people you meet, regardless of who you _think_ they are, with the same kind of respect and politeness, then a case of mistaken identity wouldn’t have to lead to something like this, now would it? I mean, okay, you thought it was another slave. So what? Does that mean ‘fuck off’ is a suitable answer to someone who only tried to figure out who you were?”

Taven felt his face heat up. “I… I didn’t mean to… I was, kinda, in a bad mood, and…”

“Ah,” Mr. Roth said. “I suppose the whole house should walk on tiptoes whenever the redheaded slave is in a bad mood, eh?”

Taven couldn’t answer. There really were no excuses for his behavior, and it made him burst out crying. “Master’s never gonna forgive me, Mr. Roth,” he sobbed into his hands. “He was so fucking angry, he was never that angry before. Not in that way. He- he was angry like he hated me.”

Mr. Roth gave his shoulder another comforting squeeze. “Oh, he doesn’t hate you. It’s just you don’t understand why this is so bad. From your perspective, I get it, you think Nickel has all the power in the world, but, he doesn’t, not really. His dad is the one who has all the power around here. He’s the one who owns everything. All those fancy cars, the house, all the slaves, the lands… Everything! Yeah, he’s in his seventies, and he just wants to take it easy these days, you know, and worry about his flowers, stuff like that. He ‘retired’ and put the whole shebang in Nickel’s hands, but officially, on paper, he’s still in charge. If your master misbehaves, or don’t run this place well enough, you bet your ass the old man would swoop in here in no time, and take it all back.

“Well, now Nickel has to explain to his dad why he bought a slave who would yell and scream at people and tell them to fuck off. If you knew Nickel’s dad, you’d know your master is having quite a difficult time with that right now. Why do you think he sent me here? He’s busy trying to save your ass, boy. _Nickel’s_ not gonna throw you out, but you’ve just made it about a million times harder for him to defend this decision. I don’t want to scare you; boy, but I gotta tell you. At the moment, the Head Lord isn’t all too keen on the idea of you staying in his house, and if he refuses to back down on this, I… I’m not sure what Nickel could even do about it.” 

Taven cried even harder hearing this. “I’m dead, Mr. Roth,” he sobbed. “I’m as good as fucking _dead_.”

Mr. Roth scooted a bit closer and put his arm around his shoulders. “Nah,” he said. “It’ll probably be all right. The old lord… Yeah, he’s pissed off, but he isn’t really a cruel man. I don’t think he would let you come to actual harm, and… He’ll calm down, eventually, and even if he does throw you out. Well, I guess you’ll just have to crash on my couch again.” 

Taven looked up. “Really?” he sniffed; hardly daring to believe the bodyguard meant it.

Mr. Roth nodded and rubbed his back. “I’m not gonna lie to you. Things aren’t good, and you do have a reason to worry, but I don’t want you to fear for your fucking life here, boy. Put that thought out of your mind. Nickel and me both, we’d never let that happen, okay?” 

Taven looked at Mr. Roth. He wasn’t sure he believed the large man would really take him in. What would he need him for? His place was really small, and he didn’t even want to fuck him. Taven had a hard time believing Nickel still wanted him, too, in spite of the new boy, and against his scary father’s wishes, but… He wanted to believe the bodyguard wasn’t lying. It was his only hope. “Okay, Mr. Roth,” he said, making an effort to sit up straight and stop crying like an idiot. 

“That a boy,” Mr. Roth said, giving his shoulders a friendly shake, smiling at him. “Well, I guess I should go. Now, you eat that supper and try to get some sleep, you hear?” 

He got up from the bed, but he didn’t leave. Puzzled, Taven watched how the big bodyguard squirmed in front of him, almost as if he was embarrassed about something. 

“Look, Taven,” he finally said. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but… That bit… That fucking torture device… Well, I didn’t know about it, okay. I had no idea, until tonight, Nickel did this to you, and yeah, I kinda get why he didn’t tell me, because… He explained why he did it, and I understand his reasoning. I get it why he didn’t think he had a choice, but I don’t really care if he’s right, or not, this is still fucked up, boy. Using stuff like that, it just isn’t right. Had he told me beforehand, I would have done my best talking him out of it. Yeah, I’m very well aware it isn’t any of my business, and I have no say whatsoever in how he handles you, but… Just so you know, boy, I do _not_ like it.” 

Taven stared, mouth open. 

He gave Taven another encouraging pat on the shoulder. “I gotta go,” he said. “For what it’s worth, if the old lord wants to listen to me, at all, I’ll tell him you didn’t understand who he was. Maybe he’ll be at least a little bit less furious.”

Mr. Roth smiled and left, locking the door.

Taven dried at his face with his sleeve. No matter what Mr. Roth had said, he found it difficult to shake either his depression or his fears. At least he _was_ still here, and he didn’t have to sleep with the bit in either, that was _one_ good thing. He really was very hungry, too. 

He reached for the stew, and had a spoonful. It had gone cold, but it was still good.

\-----o0o-----

Back home, Roth pulled at the curtain of his living room window, just enough to be able to peek outside. Last time he looked, half an hour or so ago, there had been a dark figure standing in direct view of his window, leaning against the opposite wall in the narrow back alley, hiding in the darkness of the broken street lights. Roth had had the distinct feeling it wasn’t one of the homeless people who sometimes slept down there, and that the mystery man was, somehow, checking out his place.

If the guy was still there… Yep, he was still there.

The man-shaped shadow lifted a hand to his featureless face. There was a short flicker of light, and some fine tendrils of cigarette smoke. It was enough for Roth to have seen the medical tape over the man’s nose.

Slowly Roth let the curtain fall back into place. He sat down on the couch and stared at the loaded gun in front of him on the coffee table.


	49. All for a Skinny Whore…

Nickel wasn’t exactly in a good mood waking up the next morning. He looked over to the empty side of his bed with a deep sigh. 

A night’s sleep had cooled down his anger considerably, but it wasn’t entirely gone. All these months, trying to keep the boy a secret to his father, working day and night on making the slave at least passable in the Head Lord’s eyes, and Taven had ruined it all, in a few seconds. 

He had spent the better part of yesterday trying to placate the furious Head Lord, which had proven futile. Granted, his father had several reasons to be very angry with him. Not only had he shown a ‘shocking lack of judgment’ and ‘less common sense than a halfwit’ buying such an ‘appalling creature’ in the first place. He had also failed completely in properly disciplining said ‘creature’, spent an ‘indefensible amount’ of money on him, and then kept it all a secret to his own father. Not to mention showing ‘unspeakably bad taste’ in the ‘monstrously inappropriate deed’ of naming the ‘horrible thing’ after his own poor deceased _brother_. 

His father had hardly minced his words, and Nickel didn’t think he’d gotten such a thorough verbal trashing in his life. It was even more frustrating since he wasn’t able to defend his actions, or explain himself in any manner his father would accept. 

He didn’t even want to think about how his father would react if he also found out he’d very recently spent a night in jail for kicking the slave’s former owner in the face in the middle of a crowded mall downtown, as well as convincing his own bodyguard to burglarize the man. The Head Lord might disown him on the spot, pass on the title to his cousin Leonard, and throw him out of the house penniless.

Nickel raked his hands through his hair, wishing he could just go back to sleep and pretend nothing had ever happened. 

In the end, his father had declared himself unable to be placated unless the slave was given a thorough thrashing, and was removed from his house, for good, which was the moment when Nickel had finally found it in himself to talk back with some force. He’d simply refused to have Taven beaten or sold, and no angry yelling from the Head Lord had made him back down on this. Thus, their disagreement had ended in a classic stalemate, which had made dinner a silent and utterly uncomfortable affair, to say the least.

The icy silence had lasted the rest of the night.

Nickel forced himself to leave the bed for a morning shower. The conflict was far from resolved, and he had a feeling today wouldn’t be nicer than the day before in that aspect.

\-----o0o-----

Skipping breakfast to go downstairs, Nickel was surprised to see one of the male house slaves slumped down on the floor against Taven’s door, seemingly deep in sleep. Oh, right. Worried about the boy, even in his anger, he’d ordered the slave in the room closest to Taven’s to keep an extra ear out for strange noises. Apparently, the slave had been so afraid to miss something he’d spent the night in the corridor, his ear literally to Taven’s locked door. No wonder he’d dozed off.

He poked the man in the thigh with his foot, and the slave dizzily sprang to his feet with a startled yelp. Nickel took the time to assure him he’d done well and wouldn’t be punished for oversleeping, before dismissing him. While the slave disappeared down the corridor behind him, Nickel unlocked the door, worried at what state he would find Taven in. 

Nickel found the boy awake and dressed, kneeling in the middle of the floor, head deeply bowed, arms raised. The reason for the submissive pose was clear. Taven was holding the bit up to him, arms shaking, accepting, or even suggesting, further punishment. 

He swallowed hard, feeling queasy. He should never have used the bit in this way. No matter what Taven had done, it wasn’t right to break this promise. He stepped up to the boy and grabbed the bit from his palms, pushing it down his pants pocket. “I… I won’t use it in here again,” he said. 

Taven didn’t answer or got up from his kneeling position. He only let his still shaking hands sink into his lap and kept staring at the floor. Nickel sighed and sat down at the bedside. 

“I talked to Roth, yesterday, after he’d been here to see you. Do you understand why I wasn’t able to see to you myself?”

The boy nodded.

“Do you also understand the situation? Do you understand what you have done?”

Taven nodded again, his shoulders trembling. “I do,” he wept. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“I know,” Nickel said. “Roth told me… Oh, come here!” Nickel couldn’t stand it anymore. He opened up his arms for the boy, and Taven crawled in between his legs and pressed his face into his stomach, throwing his arms around Nickels’ waist, his whole body racked by sobs. 

Nickel leaned over the boy and caressed his hair. How could he remain cold and hard when Taven was so regretful and so clearly devastated by the whole thing? Surely, he himself was also to blame, wasn’t he? He should have been much stricter with Taven from the start.

“I’m not blaming you for mistaking my father for someone else,” Nickel said, “but it neither explains your outburst, nor excuses it. What gave you the impression you’re allowed to curse and yell at the other slaves for no reason? That is not your place, slave.”

“I didn’t think I could do that, Master,” Taven cried. “I didn’t!”

“Then explain to me what’s wrong,” Nickel said. “I don’t understand where that anger came from.”

Taven only shook and sniveled, not answering.

“If you’ll only talk to me,” Nickel tried further. “I’ll forgive you. My father is still angry, but _I_ won’t be.”

“I can’t,” Taven wept. “I can’t, Master.” 

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

Again, there was no answer. Nickel’s patience was wearing thin. He’d endured his father putting him down for hours on end, and now Taven refused to explain what had brought on this whole disaster in the first place. He got up from the bed, pulled away, and forced the boy to let go of the desperate grip of his shirt. 

“You’ll stay in here until you’re ready to talk to me,” he said. “Father, also, should not see you, or I don’t know what he’d do in his current state. Don’t worry, you’ll be properly seen to. I… I’ll come back another day.”

Nickel was aware how Taven listlessly slumped down on the floor, crying even harder at his master turning his back on him, but he steeled himself, with some difficulty. He left, locking the door behind him.

Before going back upstairs, he gave the keys to one of the maids and told her they were to take turns checking out Taven, around the clock. The boy hurt himself; they would _all_ have to answer to him.

It was with a massive headache and a heavy heart he went to face his father again.

\-----o0o-----

Roth put the phone down.

He hadn’t really wanted to discuss his plan with Nickel, knowing he would argue. However, a wiser man from his last mistake he didn’t intend to go behind his boss’ back again, so, late as it was, he’d called the young lord. 

His boss had, as expected, not approved. He’d been the voice of reason this time and had told Roth it was much too risky, he should call the police instead. Roth had agreed, he should, but he wouldn’t. If anyone should take the risks, he’d argued, it was him. It was all about assessments of risks, he’d explained, weighed against a probable beneficial outcome. He simply thought it was worth it, in spite of the danger. It wasn’t a rash decision.

Nickel hadn’t sounded convinced and admitted he feared losing him. Roth had laughed it off. If that’s what his boss worried about, he simply had to employ a few bodyguards for his bodyguard then. Nickel had not been amused.

Yeah, he’d been joking, but now, after just ending the call and preparing to set his plan in motion, Roth admitted to himself he was scared. Sure, it all sounded perfectly reasonable to him as he’d kept repeating the details of his plan to himself during the day, and he thought he had the enemy figured out, but people were never entirely predictable.

Well, being scared was normal; being scared was good. It would keep him on the alert. 

He took a deep breath, got up from the couch and turned to look out the window. The silent threat was there again, just as it had been for the last few nights. Roth opened the window and stuck his head out.

“Hey!” he called out. “If you want something there’s a door you can knock on, you know, or are you gonna keep standing under my window night after night like a fucking idiot?”

Swift shifted feet to look up at him and Roth’s heart beat hard in his chest. He couldn’t see the man’s expression in the shadows, but he imagined it was a mix of surprise and anger. 

He’d given this quite some thought. Swift was a brute, but, Roth believed, wasn’t stupid, and everything the man did, he did first and foremost out of simple and pure self-interest. In spite of Swift’s current anger and lust for revenge, it should therefore be possible to reason with him, if you appealed to this self-interest. 

It sounded good, in theory.

“I’m serious,” Roth said when no reply was forthcoming. “I have a suggestion for you. The doors are unlocked.” He simply closed the window at these words and sat down on the couch to wait, hoping he’d sounded more confident than he was. 

It took about ten minutes, but then he heard his front door opening. There were a few heavy steps through the hallway, and suddenly James Swift was standing in his living room, filling up the whole doorway, staring at him.

“I know who you are,” he said.

Roth forcibly repressed a laugh. Swift’s taped nose made his voice humorously nasal, and dark bruises circled his eyes like the mask of a villain in an old silent movie. Being in a bit of a nervous state already, he found this new look extremely comical. “Took you long enough,” he answered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Swift growled. “You think you can just fuck with me, you and that crazy lord? Yeah, I admit, I didn’t get a fucking thing at first. This little fucker attacks me at the mall, catches me totally off guard, kicks me in the fucking face, and I have no idea what the fuck it’s about. I ain’t ever seen the faggot in my life. 

“Have to put that mystery aside, though, ‘cause my aunt calls me at my hospital bed, saying some guy walked into the flower shop the other day, picking up a zip bag, claiming I sent him. I sent no fucking idiot to the damn flower shop, but wait, it gets better. She describes the fucker, and it sounded just like this guy I caught following me a while back, ain’t that funny? I tell her to go back to the shop and get the stuff the hell out of there, and the fucking police are on it as soon as she steps out the door. I get out of the hospital the next morning, my apartment’s been broken into and someone’s stolen my boy. Neighbor says a guy walked off with the slave the same night, and, again, the same fucking description. You! 

“I think, what the fuck, the guy who bought the piss boy _is_ out to get at me. Why? I’ve no fucking idea. Maybe the whore mentioned there were drugs. Yeah, I think, that’s gotta be it, the fucker knows what I have. He breaks into my place, tries to find the shit, and fucking takes my boy while he’s at it. I’m pissed now. I’ve gotta find the fucker and rip his fucking throat out. 

“Don’t have time to ask about all over the fucking South End, though. I pay a visit to the fat bastard at the slave market, ‘cause he’s gotta have some records of who he sold the redhead to. Some hands on persuasion and the fucking disgusting faggot sings like a bird, and… What do you know! _You_ didn’t buy that worthless piece of shit, that _asshole of a lord_ did, and _you’re_ his fucking obedient watchdog.”

Well, Roth thought, at least now he didn’t have to explain all this himself, saved him some time. “What?” he said to Swift’s hateful glare. “You want applauds for figuring it out?” 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not done.”

Obviously, or there would already have been a violent confrontation of some kind, Roth was sure. There had to be a reason Swift was restraining himself, trying to intimidate him only, by standing under his window, instead of just ‘ripping his throat out’ as soon as he found out where he lived.

“Finding out you’re connected to that lord, now that just shits all over my theory here, doesn’t it?” Swift continued. “’Cause I’d believe it of a South Ender like you, but don’t tell me a fucking _clan lord_ is interested in my drug business. Those fuckers have their own damn sources. And this…” he pointed to his flattened nose. “…seems kinda personal to me. I can’t figure out what the fuck this is all about, but _you’re_ gonna tell me, or I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

You could try, you fucking bastard, Roth thought. Rarely had he been so happy to be wearing a loaded gun under his arm.

“Yep,” Roth said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray how tense he was. “That’s what I intended to do, inviting you up. I figured you wouldn’t get it, so let me fill you in. Lord Wren _isn’t_ interested in your fucking drugs, and neither am I. I’m not the one who’s out to get at you. It’s the lord. You see, Lord Wren hates you. He hates every fiber of your being, and he’s gonna hound you and harass you, and get up your nose – no pun intended – in every way he can think of, for as long as it takes to ruin your fucking life.”

Swift raised his eyebrows.

“He can do it, too, you know,” Roth continued. “You think the clans are rich? You have no fucking idea. This guy has about endless resources. He can spend as much money as it takes, hiring people, finding stuff out, paying off people in the streets… How many enemies do you have out there, eh? Friends and relatives of one currently incarcerated drug lord named Lorentz, maybe. I’m sure many others, too, would be delighted to help, for a handsome sum. Yeah, he can keep shuffling out money on this for _years_, and it’d still just be peanuts to him.” 

Swift kept staring at him, looking less angry and more confounded by the second.

“Why do you think _I’m_ helping? You think I’d want your damn drugs?” Roth laughed. “He pays me _much_ better than that. I’ll have enough soon to leave this hellhole, for good.” 

“What the fuck…” Swift started, but Roth wasn’t finished either. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupted. “You wanna hurt me bad, kill me, right? Yeah, it ain’t gonna happen. We both know that. Let’s say you could get close enough to kill me, you can’t afford the attention, believe me. You’re right; it _was_ me who picked up the zip bag. You think I wanted to steal from you. You’re so fucking wrong. I went directly to the police with the shit, and it was me who helped set up the trap that caught your aunt. 

“The police know all about you, and I know all about your deals in the past. Yeah, the fucking idiots at the police missed you this time, but they won’t forever. Anything happens to me, you’ll be the first they’ll look for, and this time there’ll be no fucking deals. You’ll be in for life this time, pal. I hope you won’t end up with Lorentz as a cellmate. My boss has plenty of connections, though, I’m sure he could pull a few strings in there, too. 

“Besides, even if you did get away with murder, it wouldn’t do you any good. Lord Wren would only hire someone else like me. Hell, he’d hire ten more, and just keep coming after you.”

Of course, it wasn’t true Nickel would be so callous about what happened to him, but Swift knowing about their friendship wouldn’t help in making him believe in all this. 

It was with some satisfaction Roth watched how his words took effect. Swift hadn’t changed his threatening pose in the doorway, but there was something of the stress of a hunted animal in his eyes, and a twitch at his mouth. Roth relentlessly went on, only to drive the point home.

“Don’t even think of touching Lord Wren. His home is a fucking fort. You wouldn’t even get close. He knows better now, too, than to run about in the city on his own. There’ll be no more chance encounters at the mall. Not that those seem to work out very well for you anyway.” Roth grinned. “He might not be a big guy, but he’s hardly helpless, as you might have noticed. I guess I don’t even have to tell you it’s not very likely you’d get to him legally if he harasses you. The police know you too well; they’d laugh in your face at any complaints against a lord. You saw what happened when he attacked you; they let him go the next day. Those lawyers the clans hire, they’ll get them out of any fucking shit, or they’ll just bribe their way out.”

It wasn’t true in all cases. The clans _were_ privileged and often got away with things, but were hardly above the law to such an extent. However, his words would neatly play into the paranoid myths working class people already believed of the ‘rich bastards up there’. Swift wouldn’t be hard to convince. 

“Yeah, there you have it,” Roth finished. “You’re fucking _screwed_, Swift.”

Swift gave him a grin that obviously was meant to be cocky, but it didn’t fool Roth, he’d managed to make the bastard very nervous, all right.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Swift said. “What the fuck is the faggot’s problem? I’ve never even met him before he fucking broke my damn nose. What the hell did I ever do to him?”

Roth sighed and shook his head. “You really can’t figure it out, can you? Not even after being told _Lord Wren_ bought the redhead. You know what I’ve read somewhere. That it’s actually some kind of brain damage, some piece missing up here.” Roth poked his temple with his index finger. “A deficiency in the empathy center, know what I mean? You hurt that slave, that’s why. You raped and scarred him, humiliated him, burned him and broke his bones. You starved him, prostituted him; gave him STDs, put him in a hole with fucking rats, and let his teeth rot out of his damn mouth. You outright tortured that poor helpless thing for years and damaged him for life. Lord Wren cares about the redhead,” Roth concluded. “That’s all.”

For the first time Swift looked truly incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he repeated. “He’s doing all this because of some worthless skinny whore?”

Roth looked up at him, deadly serious, nodding. “All this, for a skinny whore,” he confirmed.

“But… What the… Is he fucking mental in some way?”

It really was beyond Swift’s understanding how anyone could care that much about a slave, Roth realized, but it didn’t matter. Let him think people like Nickel was crazy, it could only aid this plan further if Swift thought he was. 

Roth shrugged, “How should I know. I’m just collecting the money, you know. I don’t give a fuck if my boss is sane or not. If you don’t believe me, then consider why I did break into your apartment, if I wasn’t looking for drugs or money. I came specifically for the boy. My boss paid me a small fortune to get that other kid away from you as well. Can’t say it’s the worst job I’ve been asked to do. People like you shouldn’t be allowed to keep slaves in my opinion. Fucking sadistic bastards like you should be kept away from _any_ kid, ever.” 

Swift finally seemed to accept the premise. “Suggestion,” he said, refraining from commenting further on how ‘mental’ it all was. “You said you had a fucking suggestion, and if it in any way includes getting you crazy fucks off my fucking back, I’d like to hear it. So fucking get to it or we’re through talking, and you had better sleep with a gun from now on, ‘cause if it’s the last thing I’ll do… If I’m going down anyway, I’ll make real fucking sure I’ll take _you_ with me!”

Roth did his best to pretend indifference, as if the threat didn’t actually send chills up his spine. This wasn’t a good moment to show any kind of weakness. 

He leaned back in the couch. “Yeah, I had a suggestion for you, didn’t I? Well, it’s very simple, really. Lord Wren will do what he thinks he has to, but it’s not like scheming against you is his favorite pastime or anything. Giving you a new, and dare I say, prettier, face, sort of cooled him down a bit, too. Now that both boys are safe, yeah, he’s willing to back off, _if_ you do a few small things for him.”

“I’m listening,” Swift said, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, number one: sign over the ownership of that other exotic to Lord Wren and send me the papers. He wants to own him legally. Number two: never get another slave again, for as long as you live, of any age, or gender. Believe me, we’re not gonna forget about you. We’ll know if you get another one, and if you do, all deals are off. Number three: you’re gonna be contacted by Lord Wren’s lawyer about that little incident at the mall. Agree to settle out of court, accept any offer he’ll make you, and then keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Are you fucking nuts?” Swift said. “You think I’ll just forget a fucking kick to my fucking _face_?” 

Apparently, he drew the line at the deformation of his nose

Roth shrugged. “Okay! We’ll settle for the first two demands only then, and you can take the lord to court. I mean, yeah, he won’t like the attention, but I’m sure you’ll like it even less. I’m guessing your reputation here won’t improve having had your ass kicked by a simpering lord, barely out of school, and half your size. Right? Besides, you think a trial could only go your way. Think again! Did you know I used to work as a private investigator? Wanna know how good I’ll be at digging up dirt about you? Can you afford a better lawyer than my boss? No? Believe me, you’ll stand much more to gain just quietly accepting a decent compensation, and telling people you slipped in the shower, or something.”

“Fine,” Swift spat. “Whatever! Now, if I agree to this shit, what do _I_ get?”

“As I said,” Roth repeated. “We’ll back off, and leave you alone. You’ll never see any of us again. If I haven’t convinced you by now that’s compensation enough, then I don’t know what.”

Swift didn’t say anything to this, but his glare was so full of hate, Roth had to fight with himself not to get off the couch and draw his gun. He didn’t expect Swift to simply turn on his heels and storm out of the apartment without another word. The hasty departure was accompanied by a huge crash from the hallway, which made Roth almost elevate from his seat. 

The sudden silence that followed was almost as unnerving.

It took Roth a while to get the adrenaline level down to normal, but eventually he went to check on his hallway. Swift had overturned the armoire holding Roth’s coats and jackets. It had crashed into the mirror on the opposite wall, and both the mirror and the armoire were broken. 

He sighed. It was better than Swift breaking _him_, he supposed, and he was glad the stuff was only cheap flea market finds and not family heirlooms or something. Roth backed away from all the glass on the floor; he guessed he had to spend the rest of the night tidying up.


	50. The Hurt and the Comfort

“Here you are,” Roth said, handing the envelope to Nickel over the large desk in his boss’ study. 

Nickel eagerly opened it, pulling out Silas’ papers. Roth had already checked them closely. They were legit, registered with the authorities, signed and everything. His boss was the boy’s legal owner now. 

It had taken about two days after Swift’s ‘visit’ and then Roth had found the papers in his mailbox. There had been no stamp or address on the envelope, which meant Swift had delivered the papers in person. He probably wanted to remind him he wasn’t actually gone. 

Roth got the hint; he’d started to keep his gun out at all times. Loaded. 

“Incredible,” Nickel said, looking at him over the papers. “Your plan worked exactly the way you said it would.”

Roth couldn’t help the smug grin. He’d been unsure about the outcome, but in spite of Swift’s temper tantrum, it seemed, thinking it over, he’d realized agreeing to their terms was the best he could do. Roth couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased with himself.

Nickel frowned at his expression. “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m still not happy you did this. It could have gone bad in so many ways. You could have been seriously hurt. He demolished your hallway, for goodness sake.”

Roth shrugged and smiled wider. “He didn’t break anything important, it was worth it.” He turned serious. “I know it was risky, Nickel. I’m not being flippant; I was reasonably sure about what I was doing. I’m a South Ender; remember? I know how they think.”

“It would seem so,” Nickel said. “I talked to Richter yesterday and he met with no resistance whatsoever making Swift an offer. Richter said it was a ridiculously low offer, too. He was surprised, to say the least, he’d only meant to start low, and was fully prepared to go much higher to get the bastard to agree to settle out of court. It was a relief; seeing as it would have been hard to hide a larger sum from father. As it is, Richter assured me father will never know. I couldn’t tell Richter you threatened Swift, but I did explain why he doesn’t want attention overall, and it settled it in Richter’s mind. Well, whatever you said to Swift, it worked, all right.”

Roth grinned. “I made you out to be this maniac with a one track mind and your sight set on ruining his life. I told him you’d shell out money on it until the day you die, that there’d be no one to stop you, and plenty to help, since you pay so well. You have bought influence in the police, in the streets… everywhere. He wouldn’t even be safe in prison, and if you break the law in the process, you won’t care. You’ll just bribe your way out, and be at it again. I told him you’d stop at nothing, and he can’t touch you, with or without legal means, because… Well, because you’re clan.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows, staring at him.

“Working class people believe pretty much anything of the clans,” Roth said, giving him an apologetic grin. 

Nickel looked like he didn’t know what to think about it, but the surprised expression soon turned to a frown, and he put Silas’ papers away in a desk drawer with an unintelligible mutter.

“What?” Roth asked.

“Well,” Nickel said, hesitating. “I wouldn’t want to sound ungrateful and unappreciative. Believe me; I’m very well aware of the risks you took, but… I can’t help it still eats at me Swift will get away so easily, and even if it’s a relatively small sum, it really rubs me the wrong way I have to give him money, too, on top of it all.”

Roth shook his head. “Nickel, look, I get it, you want Swift to suffer the way he made Taven suffer, but seeing as we missed the chance to put the bastard behind bars, this really _is_ the best outcome we can hope for. Now that both boys are safe, I think it’s time to let things go. Let it go, and patch things up with your dad instead!”

Nickel laughed a little dryly. “You really do think I’m a ‘maniac with a one track mind’, don’t you?” he said.

Roth remained serious. “No, I don’t, but this kind of focus on revenge _could_ easily slip into unhealthy territory.”

Nickel laughed again. “That was only a nicer way to say ‘you’re a maniac with a one track mind’, you know.” He sighed. “You’re right. I _will_ let it go, I promise, I will. Besides, I’ll always have that broken nose, right?”

“Right!” Roth grinned. “He looked like hell, by the way, thought you’d like to know.” 

Nickel grinned back. “I’ll need to focus elsewhere anyway,” he said, his expression changing back to a deep frown. “If I will ever manage to ‘patch things up with my dad’, as you put it.”

“He’s still pissed off, eh?”

Nickel nodded. “He has more or less been giving me the silent treatment the last few days, so, yes, he’s still angry, no doubt about that. Learning Taven mistook him for someone else doesn’t really matter in his eyes. I have no idea what he’s thinking or planning, but you simply don’t demand of the _Head Lord_ to share his thoughts, now do you?” Nickel leaned over to rub at his temples. “I don’t even dare let Taven out of his room. The poor thing has been locked up since it happened.”

“You think your dad would hurt him? I mean, really hurt him?”

“He wants him flogged, at the very least. It’s complicated, Roth. I told father I wouldn’t agree to have him either beaten, or sold, but… What could I do if father insists? This is _his_ house. I can’t keep a slave on the estate he doesn’t want here. I _think_ father values our relationship enough not to override what authority I might have earned here, and if he hurts the boy against my will, I will damn well never speak with him again.”

“So, that’s the only thing holding him back?”

Nickel nodded again. “I hope so.” 

Roth shook his head. 

The clans’ family dynamics was firmly stuck in a bygone era, he thought. To him, it was totally fucked up how just one man could be allowed to have this kind of power over a whole extended family. The Head Lords were sitting on all the wealth like some mean old trolls, controlling the lesser lords and their families by taking advantage of centuries old government-sanctioned traditions with a neatly built in system of dependency. 

Nickel, at least, would have this power, one day, while his cousin Leonard, for example, would never get out of this dependant state. If he didn’t want to manage on his own out there that is, without his clan allowances. Roth had met Lord Leonard Wren a few times. He was a nice enough guy, very reminiscent of Nickel in looks, but not overly bright or in possession of any particular talent or skill. A man like that, he’d never make it outside the clans. When Nickel takes over for real, Roth realized, Leonard will have to swallow sucking up to a Head Lord closer in age to his own sons, for the rest of his life. 

Roth liked to think he would have walked, with a resounding ‘fuck it all’, but who knows how you’d see things if you were brought up in it. 

Well, Nickel _didn’t_ have this power yet, and emotional blackmail seemed to be his only weapon here, which wasn’t really worthy of a grown up man, was it? “I’d help if I could,” Roth said.

Nickel managed a faint smile. “I know,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Taven was laying on top the covers on his bed with his clothes on, not having bothered to undress the night before. It was morning, but he’d lost track of the date. Though it couldn’t have been many days, it felt like weeks.

Being locked up was depressing, frightening and frustrating and it was horrible not knowing for how long, or what was awaiting him. Now and then, a faint flicker of hope wanted to flare up at the mere fact he _was_ still here, at all. Surely, if his master really didn’t want him anymore, he’d be long gone by now? Then he remembered how Nickel had turned his back on him.

Those flickers of hope were so easily squashed. He wouldn’t be easy to get rid of, after all. Who in their right mind would buy _him_? In his blackest moments, Taven thought his owner let him stay for the time being only because he hadn’t figured out where the hell to send him yet. 

Then, as if he wasn’t miserable enough already, he’d see the other boy in front of his inner eye. His small, lithe, smooth-skinned body would be resting naked on Nickel’s bed, his dark hair fanned out around his doll face, his master climbing onto the bed with a pleased smile. 

Whatever hope there was always died out completely at this vision. 

If he’d only talked with his master when he had the chance, but Taven simply hadn’t been able to. Even at the man’s promise he’d forgive his behavior if he just explained himself, courage had failed him. Had he admitted fear of being replaced was the reason for the outburst, there might have been a look of confirmation in his master’s eyes, or he might have been simply told his worries were warranted. At that moment, Taven hadn’t been able to handle getting that thrown in his face. 

Taven had told his master nothing, and the man had left, disappointed in him. Again.

A key turned in his lock, and Taven shifted on the bed to face the wall, preparing to ignore the maid. It would be time for breakfast, and much like the first days here, they brought him food trays. It wasn’t all they did. They seemed to spy on him, too, sticking their heads through the door at odd hours and even peeking through his window. He thought he could hear them stand outside his door too, day and night, probably listening to every fucking thing he was doing in here. He would pull the mattress off the bed and sleep in the bathroom to avoid them if he wasn’t so sure they’d go in there, too. Fucking nosy bitches, all of them. It was the only reason he _wasn’t_ constantly crying over his hopeless situation. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

“Taven, are you asleep?”

It wasn’t a maid. Taven froze at his master’s voice in the doorway, so scared at what the visit meant; he didn’t even dare blink.

Nickel came into the room and sat down at the bedside. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Taven was stunned. What the fuck was he supposed to answer to that. Of course he wasn’t fucking all right. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been leaving you in here, but father is still angry, and I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk about the mansion freely. If the two of you would run into each other again, I don’t know what would… Well, I can’t imagine it’s good for you to stay locked up all day either. We should at least have classes, whenever possible. Father is having one of his long breakfasts, he won’t notice if I take you up to the classroom. Later, I can take you back when father goes to the gardens. Oh, you’ll be hungry… I’ll have something sent up, and you can eat in the classroom, as you used to do when I taught you table manners, remember? What do you say?” 

What did he say? Taven really wished he knew. He slowly turned. “You… You really ain’t angry anymore, Master?” he asked.

Nickel smiled and shook his head. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, patting his thigh. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

\-----o0o-----

They climbed the stairs up to the attic and his master was acting as if nothing had happened, chatting, looking over his shoulder now and then to smile at him. Taven didn’t like it. It felt like lying, when they both knew everything was fucking shitty. He didn’t answer, and was only listening with half an ear to whatever it was the man was babbling about. 

“…and Silas should already be waiting for us. It’ll be fun for you to have some company up there.”

What? Taven startled when this piece of information finally seeped through to his mind. His master had brought the new boy to the classroom? It was the last person in the world he wanted to see right now. Everything was that fucking slave’s fault. _Everything_. 

Taven tried to press down his anger and bitterness, doing his best to follow meekly and show nothing of his fears. Maybe, just maybe, his master doing this meant the man was giving him a last chance. He told himself he must _not_ make another scene, no matter what. 

The other boy – Taven refused to refer to him by name – stood beside a desk when they walked inside, in the same submissive and demure manner as before. Hadn’t he even tried taking a seat while no one could see him? 

Nickel pulled up an extra chair to the desk. “Sit down, the two of you,” he said. 

They both obeyed. Taven looked down at his hands fisting in his lap, boiling inside. There were at least ten empty desks in the room, but Nickel forced him to share his?

“Silas,” Nickel started. 

Being spoken to, the boy straightened up in attention. 

“Your papers tell me you’ve been given a basic education,” their master continued. “I’d like to see how well you can read. Take the first book in the pile before you and recite a few passages for me. Any page will do.”

“Yes, Master,” the boy answered. He rose from the chair with the book and took a step to the side. Standing straight as a rod, he opened it and read from the page with a clear, unchanged voice, not faltering on a single word. When he was done, he bowed deeply before returning to his chair.

Taven gaped. What the fuck. The boy was several years younger, but read as well as their master. He hadn’t stumbled once, not even on the long and hard words, and as if that wasn’t bad enough... You were supposed to get up like that to read, bowing and all? Apparently you were, since Nickel looked as pleased as he ever had. Taven looked down. If his master had only taught him you were supposed to do that, he would have, too. Why had he never been told that’s what you did? It wasn’t fair.

“Well, I’m impressed,” his master said. “You read very well. Let’s see how you write.”

Watching the boy write wasn’t less humiliating. The new slave could write just as fucking well as he could read and there was no mistaking his master’s delight as he dictated the words the slave was neatly scribbling down. Taven fought his tears. If Nickel was indeed choosing between them here, then this must be the last nail in the coffin for him. Taven didn’t stand a fucking chance. He knew, after all, how important all this learning shit was to their master.

They were cut off when his master’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and were told he would leave them for a few minutes to take the call. Taven watched the man walk across the creaky old floorboards toward the door and didn’t know if he was happy the show was interrupted, or if he wanted to scream aloud at being left alone with the other boy.

Taven looked away. He didn’t want to speak with the little shit, and when the other boy happened to lightly brush against his arm with his own, he demonstratively shuffled away on the chair, increasing the gap between them by several inches. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said softly. “I didn’t mean to… Do you hurt very much?” 

“What?” Taven turned in confusion. What the fuck was he on about?

“They said you were punished,” the boy clarified. “Did it hurt much?”

“What? Who the fuck said that?” 

“The others… The other slaves in the kitchens, they said master was very angry with you and locked you in your room, and I thought…”

“That’s none of your _fucking_ business,” Taven interrupted. 

What the fuck. How could the little shit get along so well with the house slaves already they told him the gossip around here? Fucking bastards, too. Of course, they would gossip about _him_. Taven looked away again; seething with anger, but for a few moments, it seemed as if the new boy had at least taken the hint and would keep his mouth shut. 

However…

“They said you’re master’s favorite,” the light voice spoke up beside him again. “They said he almost never punishes you, so they thought you’d done something really bad this time, but no one knew what.” Again, there was silence. “A- aren’t you scared?” the boy finally asked, whispering now, sounding positively aghast. “I mean… They said you often do bad things, and… I- I’d never dare be bad, and this is such a good place. This master, he’s so- so… He’s so _kind_. Aren’t you scared he’d tire of it? Aren’t you afraid he’ll sell you?” 

Taven reeled at the words. The soft voice whispering beside him was like listening to his own fears. It was his own conscience, having become flesh and blood, reminding him what a worthless shit he was who ruined the only chance he’d ever had at a decent life by acting like a complete and utter idiot. It was hard enough dealing with such truths in his own head. He could _not_ stand to hear it out of the mouth of his own _replacement_. 

Something snapped within him. He turned on the chair, and what he saw in front of him was no longer another boy. Filled with rage and despair Taven threw himself at the other slave, tackling him to the floor. All he wanted to do was to silence that voice, and hardly aware of what he was doing he beat the screaming and writhing thing underneath him with his fists again and again, and again…

\-----o0o-----

Nickel didn’t inadvertently want to mention Swift’s name in front both his victims, so when he saw the caller was Richter he’d stepped out of the classroom. Richter only wanted to inform him there would soon be papers to sign, and discuss how to best arrange this in a way his father wouldn’t find them out, but the conversation was interrupted by several loud crashes in rapid succession, coming from behind the classroom door. 

Startled, Nickel hung up with a hurried promise to call again, and dashed back inside. The sight stunned him. The desk was shoved out of the way, books and papers were strewn all over the floor, the chairs were tilted over... In the middle of this mess, Taven was straddling a screaming Silas on the floor. His fists rained down on the boy, while Silas desperately tried to protect his face with his arms. 

Shocked, Nickel ran up to them, yelling at Taven to stop, but his orders seemed to have no effect whatsoever. A screaming Taven was still trying to claw and kick at Silas when Nickel pulled him off, completely unresponsive in his rage.

At a loss of what to do to get through to him, Nickel flung Taven around and slapped him in the face. 

Hard. 

It worked. Taven went still and quiet in a heartbeat. Flopping down on his ass on the floor, he looked up at Nickel with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Slowly a violently shaking hand came up to feel at his face. 

Nickel stared back down, putting a hand over his mouth. There were four distinctive red marks on Taven’s pale cheek. 

Oh, but he hadn’t meant to… He didn’t want to… Nickel reached for Taven, but the slave ducked his hands, scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room. 

Nickel wanted to run after him, but Silas, still crying at his feet, demanded his attention. He crouched down beside the boy and pulled his shivering hands from his face. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth. Helping the boy to his feet, he walked him out of the classroom and down the stairs.

\-----o0o-----

On closer inspection, Silas didn’t seem badly hurt. 

Nickel had taken him down to the kitchens where the maids soon flocked around the boy, consoling him and gently washing the nosebleed from his face. Silas had already stopped crying and was stoically enduring the treatment in silence, only grimacing a little when they touched a particularly sore spot. The little slave had probably been through worse, Nickel thought, shaking his head in sadness. 

Maybe he should have Dr. Cordeaux look at him again, but it did seem like the boy had escaped with only a black eye, some swelling and bruises. For now, Nickel was much more worried about Taven, and knowing Silas was in good hands, he left to look for him.

Taven wasn’t in his room, and Nickel didn’t think he would hide in his master’s rooms either. Nor would the boy think of hiding anywhere else in the house, he was sure. Taven stayed downstairs, or with him, and had otherwise only ever spent any real time in the classroom and the gym. The rest of the large building was mostly unfamiliar to him. It left the gardens. Nickel was sure that’s where Taven would go if blindly running from something. 

Nickel couldn’t shake the worry as he went out into the gardens. The slave blowing up in his father’s face was mysterious, but this confounded him to no end. Taven had acted as if he had wanted to kill Silas, and he couldn’t even begin to understand why. The boys hardly knew each other, and Silas was so well behaved. Nickel couldn’t see how that unassuming submissive boy could have provoked Taven into such violence. What on earth could have brought this on? He didn’t want to go there in his thoughts, but sometimes he feared Taven _was_ actually mentally ill.

He couldn't find Taven in his favorite spot, and Nickel was increasingly worried as he half-ran over the lawns, seeing no trace of the boy. Where _was_ he? He hoped Taven hadn’t left the grounds altogether. Surely, he understood there was nowhere to go. On the other hand, he could have walked into the woods, trying to reach Serenity at the Engel Mansion. Nickel sincerely hoped he hadn't. There were so many old winding dirt roads in the woods, all looking the same, miles and miles of them, crisscrossing each other in confusing patterns. Serenity knew them like the back of his own hand, but Taven would get hopelessly lost. 

Nickel was considering calling Serenity to ask him to help him look, when he heard it, a faint sound resembling sobs, coming from his father’s prize-winning rhododendron grove. Nickel ran over to the enormous thick shrubbery, and finally found Taven hiding under one of the larger bushes, hugging his knees. 

He was so very relieved.

However, with relief came anger. He leaned over the huddled figure. “Have you completely lost your mind, slave,” he yelled. “What on earth were you doing back there? Were you trying to kill him?”

Taven shrank away at his yelling, the sobbing increasing in tenfold, but as before, he seemed to have no explanation for his behavior. 

“Well?” Nickel roared. He was more frustrated now than anything else. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“Please,” Taven managed through his tears. “Please don’t get rid of me. I’m sorry. I ain’t ever gonna touch him again, I’m sorry, I’m sorry... Please, don’t sell me!” The boy hugged himself and rocked back and forth at his feet.

“What?” Nickel said. “I would never…” 

“Please,” Taven interrupted. “Keep me too! I’ll stay away, and I ain’t ever gonna bother you no more. Please, even if it’s him now, keep me, too!”

Nickel stepped back. Taven thought…. Oh, he understood now, and how could he have been so blind? As if in a flash, _everything_ made sense to him. Taven hadn’t seen the victim Silas was. He hadn’t seen in him the same kind of abused slave. A hurt boy Nickel had thought Taven, if anyone, could relate to and would want to help.

Taven had only seen another exotic his master would replace him with.

“Oh, Taven! No, no, no, you don’t understand. No…” 

Nickel crouched down to reach for him, but Taven threw himself on the ground to avoid his hands, and desperately crawled away from him, yelling and crying as if he was truly scared of him, clawing at the grass and kicking out. Nickel didn’t intend to let him get away. Not caring the least how he suddenly found himself thrashing about on the ground, as well, he finally managed to get a good hold of Taven, sitting them both up. 

“You’ve got it all wrong, Taven,” he tried. “I’m not replacing you, not at all, I…” 

Taven kept struggling, trying to get away, and Nickel had to grab him by his upper arms and shake him. “For goodness sake, boy, listen to me,” he tried. “I brought Silas here to help him, that’s all. I’m not interested in him that way, not in the least. I want _you_; you hear me, you and no one else. I wouldn’t replace you with anyone.”

The boy finally stopped struggling, staring at him in incredulity. “You- you ain’t gonna have him instead? You ain’t sleeping with him?” he wept, sniveling and shaking in his arms.

“_No_!” Nickel said. “Why would you think that?”

Tears were streaming down Taven’s dirty face. “Why wouldn’t you?” he spat bitterly. “He’s better in all ways. He- he’s way cuter, and behaves, and is fucking much smarter, and- and younger, and…”

“_Younger_?” Nickel shook his head. “For goodness sake, Taven, Silas is a kid. His voice hasn’t even broken yet. You really think I’d want to have _sex_ with him?”

Taven looked down and didn’t answer.

“You have to have understood by now I’m not interested in children. I’m not… I’m simply not. Do you really think you’re too old?” Nickel shook his head again, amazed and saddened, at just _how_ wrong Taven was. “If only you knew how often I worry about how young you are.” He wiped Taven’s tear streaked face with his bare hands, and pulled him close. “I don’t care if Silas is well behaved, or better educated, Taven, don’t you understand. I really only wanted to save him from Swift, maybe give you a friend. I didn’t understand you’d think I wanted to replace you.”

Taven buried his face in his shirt breast and started to sob again, though this time Nickel had the distinct feeling it was from sheer relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, caressing Taven over the head where he held him tight. “I’m sorry I made you think that.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel took Taven back to his own bedroom, and laid them both down on the big canopy bed, spooning the boy. He swore he would console him and hold him for as long as it would take to restore Taven’s trust in him. 

Eventually, Taven dozed off in his arms, seemingly mentally and physically exhausted by this whole ordeal. No wonder. 

Nickel could kick himself thinking about how he’d left Taven alone with his delusions, locked up in his room, convinced he wasn’t only being punished but would also be replaced. He felt so sad realizing the boy had thought himself worthless, abandoned and rejected, and his master hadn’t been there to assure him how wrong that was. 

How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he seen how having Roth bring Silas here had made Taven feel? How could he have been so foolish as to think one morning bonding in a bathtub would make Taven secure enough to handle something like this? 

Nickel hugged the sleeping boy tighter to him. He wasn’t going to send Taven back downstairs. It wasn’t part of his father’s habits to barge into his bedroom, not even when he was angry. The Head Lord did respect his adult son’s privacy. Nickel could just as well keep Taven in here, where he could make sure the boy was safe, and most importantly, where he could finally be there for him.

\-----o0o-----

Old Lord Wren lifted his garden straw hat off his balding head and scratched at his neck, puzzled at the strange marks on the ground in the rhododendron grove. What pest had managed to scrape the turf like this? Not moles or voles; of that he was sure, maybe a badger? 

“What do you think caused this, boy?” he asked the slave he’d brought to push a wheelbarrow of gardening tools and rake up the weed and clippings. 

The slave, a broad-shouldered stocky man in his thirties, was one of the more talented gardeners he’d trained, and usually eagerly discussed such matters, positively glowing whenever his master asked his opinion. However, not today it seemed. Instead, the slave looked uncomfortable, squirmed before him, and stared at his feet, remaining silent. It was obvious he knew _something_ about it. 

Lord Wren frowned. “Well?” he persisted.

“I… I dare not say, Master,” the slave managed. “I… You’d punish me, Master.”

Lord Wren frowned deeper. “Now, what is this cryptic talk, boy? Out with it!” 

“Please, Master, I’m not trying to be insolent, but- but… It was the Young Master who did that.”

Lord Wren raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying my son caused these marks? I’ve never heard something so ridiculous. Now, stop this nonsense, slave, and tell me the truth!”

The worker swallowed hard. “Please forgive me, Master. I- I wouldn’t dare lie to you, and… It’s true, Master, I swear. I was way over there.” He pointed behind him. “But I saw how… Young Master was… Um… He was kind of rolling around on the ground, with the redheaded boy, and…”

“What?” Lord Wren roared. “Rolling around on the ground? With that- that…_abomination_?”

The slave paled and backed away at his anger, nearly falling over the wheelbarrow as it hit him in the back of his knees.

Lord Wren watched the poor creature stumble and trying to regain his balance. He forced a friendlier tone. “Now, now, boy, I’m not angry with _you_. Come back here, and tell your master everything you saw!”


	51. Finding Homes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the thing: Next Sunday, August 16, just so happens to be my birthday (I'm turning half a century old - can you believe it...? I can't...) and so I will be out of town that weekend to celebrate with some friends, thus... I can't post next Sunday. The next chapter won't be terribly late, though. I'll be back to post either on Monday the 17th or Tuesday the 18th. Just wanted to let you know.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> ETA: [leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo) made no less than three watercolor illustrations for this chapter, and you all just have to go take a look. It's so cute and so sad. These illustrations fit perfectly for this scene. Thank you so much leaovo, for doing these. :-) You can find them [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/62728942). (The illustrations might contain a bit of a spoiler, so read the chapter before checking the latest artwork, to be sure, but if you're caught up on the fic, the earlier artwork should be fine in that aspect.)
> 
> /Fran

Nickel woke with a start, for a moment confused about where he was. Oh, yes, on his bed, in the middle of the day. He must have dozed off, too, and soon enough realized he was alone under the canopy.

He rose up on his elbow and looked about the room. Taven hadn’t gone far; he was standing by the window, back to him. The small hairs on his head formed a glowing halo in the sunlight and he was feeling at his slapped cheek.

Nickel sat up at the bedside. “I… I didn’t want to do that,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to get through to you.” 

“You should’ve hit me much more, Master, and- and _harder_!” Taven said, still turned away. 

Nickel didn’t answer. As much as it hurt him to hear Taven say such a thing, it also made him hopeful. Hopeful this meant Taven regretted what he’d done to poor Silas.

“The other boy… Was he… Did I hurt him bad?”

Nickel exhaled in relief. Sometimes he feared what Taven had been through had damaged him in a way he had no empathy. “He isn’t badly injured,” he answered. “But of course you hurt him. You do understand he had no idea what was going on with you. Imagine how much you scared him.”

Taven hung his head, still not facing him. “I didn’t mean it,” he said, his voice so small and remorseful. “I know now it ain’t his fault, but- but… I wasn’t thinking straight, Master. I didn’t wanna hurt him, not really. You gotta punish me!”

Nickel shook his head at Taven’s back. “You’re not getting away that easily. If you feel bad, you have to ask Silas’ forgiveness.”

Taven pulled at his braid, nervously fiddling with the end. “I don’t know how to do that,” he said.

“It might be hard, boy, but it isn’t complicated. Tell him how you feel, and say you’re sorry.”

“Like… now?”

“It won’t be easier if you wait. I’ll go check where father is, and if the coast is clear, I’ll tell you in which room Silas is staying.”

Taven was still hanging his head in shame. “Yes, Master,” he agreed.

\-----o0o-----

He halted just inside the door leading down to the second corridor of slave rooms on the other side of the kitchens. He’d never been in this corridor before, but it looked the same as his own, only mirrored, the steps before him curving slightly to the right, instead of to the left.

Taven didn’t go down those steps. His master had said it was the fifth door to the right, and he counted the doors several times, but fear of getting the wrong door wasn’t the reason he hesitated. 

While he stood there, staring at Silas’ door, trying to work up the courage to face him, it opened and a maid stepped out. It was one of the younger ones, about his age. She’d brought him food a few times, but he didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her. Taven had no idea what her name was. Well, her sudden appearance got him moving. He shoved his hands deep down his pants pockets and avoided her eyes as they were about to pass each other in the narrow passageway. 

She didn’t let him pass. 

Her hand came out and slapped into the wall in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Did you have to do that?” she demanded. “He’s only a kid. Did you have to bash half his face in, you fucking spoiled brat!”

Taven looked up, confused at the anger. “Uh,” he said, too surprised to reply.

“Yeah, you just don’t care, do you? What did Silas do to you? What have any of us ever done to you? You don’t know shit about what it’s like for us down here. You haven’t done a decent day’s work in your life and don’t know the first thing about fucking _anything_. You think you can just treat us like we don’t matter, as if you’re so damn special, and Master doesn’t even…”

“For fucks sake, Lena; shut up!” A door beside them had flung open, and one of the older slaves had stuck his head out with a look of near panic on his face. “Are you crazy?” he hissed at the girl. “You want that to get back to Master? Leave the redhead alone, this is _none_ of your business!” 

Quickly, the young maid removed her arm and stepped aside, red in the face. “I- I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please, don’t tell Master, I’m…” She silenced, as if she thought she’d already done too much damage to be able to fix it anyway, and simply ran off, slipping out the door leading back to the kitchens.

The old man turned to him. “Please don’t tell Master,” he echoed the girl’s plea. “She really didn’t mean it; she’s only feeling sorry for the new boy.”

Taven was still stunned at her outburst. “I… I won’t say anything,” he said.

“Thank you, really, and I’m sorry, too, that I called you, uh, ‘the redhead’. It’s just we usually call… I mean, it’s only, it’s so strange to us you have the same name as… Well, again, thanks, and… Excuse me.” He speedily closed the door.

Not until then did Taven become angry. What the fuck had she called him? A spoiled brat? Him? What the hell, that was so fucking unfair. He wanted to run back to the kitchens, find her, and give her a fucking smack. _She_ was the one who didn’t have a fucking clue what life was like for slaves who weren’t brought up in a rich lord’s mansion, and… 

It struck him out of nowhere, and his anger deflated in a heartbeat. They didn’t know.

He’d assumed their dislike from the first day, but why had he thought so? Taven wasn’t sure, but somehow, he’d always believed it simply showed what kind of a worthless shit he was, showed as clearly as if his hideous tattoo had been on his forehead, instead of hidden under his clothes. Why wouldn’t these people deeply despise a washed up reject of a whore, taken directly from the slums into a fine home like this? He’d just assumed they all knew how stupid and crude he was, incapable of learning manners, or how to speak better, or anything else for that matter. When they gossiped behind his back, he’d imagined how they’d say their master was worth much better. 

Taven started to realize he’d gotten them all wrong.

Those things that girl had said to him, he recognized such words, didn’t he? Yes, he did, because it was the same kind of things he had thrown in _Serenity’s_ face.

The other slaves saw him as another Serenity. 

They did dislike him, but not for being unworthy, but for being a spoiled pet that would run to the master to tell on them if they ever dared cross him, or simply attack them, unpunished. ‘_You’re Master’s favorite_’, Silas had said, and as such, he could be downright dangerous to the others for all they knew, couldn’t he? Taven had always been scared of how the others here would treat him if he lost Nickel’s protection, but he’d never once considered _they_ might be scared of what kind of influence _he_ had with their master. 

Taven flushed red. He’d avoided them, refused to speak with them, turned his head when they came inside his room, never thanked them for bringing him food, glared at them… Maybe they did have good reason to hate him. Oh, but he hadn’t meant to come across that way. It was only he’d been scared, and hadn’t known if he could trust anyone. He’d been so focused on how to survive with this new strange master only, there hadn’t been much energy left to think of others.

He forcefully shook all these confusing thoughts. This was too complicated, and he already felt bad enough for what he’d done to Silas. Today, he wasn’t able to take on more guilt. 

Taven hurried to Silas’ door, flung it open and stepped inside. Suddenly, begging the new boy’s forgiveness seemed the least difficult to handle.

\-----o0o-----

Roth came out to the mansion in the afternoon, asking one of the maids if she knew where Nickel was. She told him ‘Young Master’ was taking a walk in the gardens, and he couldn’t help how the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement at her choice of words. The slaves usually called his boss ‘Master’ only, but as soon as his father came home, Nickel was ‘demoted’, it seemed. Well, he thought, as he walked around the house, it wasn’t as if they could use names, and he supposed they had to distinguish between their owners in some way.

It still made Nickel sound like a little kid. 

He soon enough found ‘Young Master’. He was sitting on a garden bench not far from the house. As usual, Nickel seemed happy to see him, asking him to take a seat with a smile. 

The smile didn’t fool Roth. There was something on his boss’ mind. 

“So, what brings you out here this lovely afternoon?” Nickel asked.

“The new security cameras,” Roth said. “I think there’s a problem with one of them. I swear; if I have to return them again, I’ll kick their asses. Anyway, thought I’d take a walk along the wall, and check them all out, just to be sure.”

“Oh,” Nickel said. “Well, you’ll fix it, whatever it is, I’m sure.”

Roth frowned. Nickel wasn’t really listening. “Bad day?” he asked.

“I suppose you can say so,” Nickel answered.

“Your dad…?”

Nickel shook his head. “Not really… It’s Taven. This morning, he… Well, he attacked Silas. He tackled him to the floor and gave him a black eye.”

“What?” Roth said, immediately angered at what he heard. 

Nickel sighed. “Don’t be too hard on him, Roth. It seems, ever since you brought Silas here, Taven has been convinced I meant for the boy to replace him. I had both of them taking classes this morning and I think Taven thought I meant to somehow ‘test them’, you know, to choose between them. Silas turned out to be a considerably better student, I’m afraid, and… Well, it might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back and Taven completely lost it.”

“Oh,” Roth said, looking down, scratching at his neck. “He did tell me he thought you’d gotten yourself ‘a new boy’.”

“He said that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Roth shrugged apologetically. “I forgot about it, I guess. I didn’t take him seriously. He was pretty morose and melodramatic overall; you know how teenagers can be. I thought he would have gotten it by now you’d never do something like that.”

“Well, it seems, in _his_ mind, it was far from a given.”

Roth nodded in agreement, feeling bad on both Silas _and_ Taven’s behalf now. “I guess for a slave like him, nothing is a given. We should have explained it to him better.”

Nickel sighed, leaned over and rubbed at his temples. “I know that... now.”

“Still,” Roth said, not entirely placated. “The kid should learn not to go all ragey and violent at the drop of a hat. Where the hell will it end if he keeps acting out like this? Please tell me you punished him, at least.”

Nickel didn’t answer.

Roth shook his head. “Look, Nickel, it’s not that I don’t feel bad for Taven, I do, but… Silas is just an innocent kid, and he beat him up, for goodness sake.”

“I know,” Nickel said, clearly on the defensive. “What do you want me to do, beat him in turn? How will that teach him not to hurt others? He feels bad about it. I only had to convince him how wrong he was, about me replacing him, and he was devastated about having hurt Silas. I sent him to apologize. He should be with Silas now, and… Well, I think it might be best if we just let the two of them work this out on their own.”

Roth nodded. He supposed Nickel had a point, but he still couldn’t let it go entirely. “Would you let me have a talk with him?” he asked. 

Nickel eyed him in worry, hesitating.

“Come on, boss, you know I like the kid. I only want to talk to him.”

Nickel finally nodded. “All right,” he said. “He’ll be in my bedroom for the night. You can speak with him there later.”

“Okay, got it,” Roth said. “So, you want to come with me checking out the cameras?”

Nickel shook his head. “No, you go ahead. I have a few things to figure out.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven had never been in one of the house slaves’ rooms before, and well inside he was surprised at how small they were. His room must be at least three times as big. In spite of this, it was clear the rooms were meant to be shared, as there were two beds, taking up most of the floor space. Silas was sitting on one of these beds, and Taven sat down on the other, avoiding looking up, pulling at his braid. He had no idea what to say and felt fucking stupid.

The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time, but eventually Silas spoke first.

“I- I’m sorry,” he managed in a frightened squeak.

Taven looked up and not until then did he get a good look at Silas’ face. He winced. Silas sat pressed up in the corner, knees drawn up under his chin. His eye was a mess, his lips swollen, and there were angrily red marks and bruises all over his face. There was a glass of water and a box of pills on a small table squeezed in between the beds. That maid had brought him painkillers. Yeah, that had to hurt; Taven knew all too well how much that had to hurt. 

Again, Taven was deeply ashamed. He’d had no fucking reason to do what he did, or, at least the reason he _thought_ he had had, was a really stupid and unfair one. “What?” he said. “What the fuck are _you_ sorry for?”

“For- for making you angry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Taven could only gape. Silas apologizing, how fucked up was that.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “You didn’t do anything. _I_ was gonna say sorry, ‘cause it was me who- who… I’m sorry, I was a total ass and completely fucked up in the head, you know, and… I- I got it all wrong, I mean, about why he got you, and… Don’t look so fucking scared, I ain’t gonna do it again.”

“O- okay,” Silas said, shrinking back against the wall. 

Taven could have smacked himself. Apologizing wouldn’t work if he were going to yell at Silas, now would it? He hung his head again. “I thought… New boy and all… I freaked out,” Taven admitted. “It wasn’t anything you did.”

Silas was quiet at first. “Living in a place as good as this,” he finally said. “I would have, too. Freaked out, I mean. The last place I was in… It was much worse.”

Taven gave up a bitter sneer. “Tell me about it,” he said, looking up again. “Swift’s the worst fucking master ever.”

Silas’ good eye widened in surprise. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Taven said. “Swift owned me for several years. You didn’t know?”

Silas shook his head.

As they were speaking Taven spotted something, he hadn’t noticed before. Silas’ hands… one of his little fingers was bent and crooked. He reached out and touched it. “He put your hand in the door?”

Silas paled and his hands shook. He nodded, the one clear eye widening in a terror that was far from over; in spite of the fact they had taken him from his tormentor. 

Taven lined up his own, slightly bigger, hand next to Silas’, comparing their damaged little fingers. “Yeah,” Taven said, the bitterness a taste in his mouth. “Swift _liked_ that. He’s a fucking shitheaded asshole and a real sadistic _bastard_. I hope he dies and goes to hell!”

Silas shrunk and stared at him with his mouth open, his gaze flitting back to the door, as if he thought someone would barge into the room and flog them for daring to speak in such a way of free men.

Taven drew his hand back and grinned cockily. “Master says so, too,” he assured Silas. “He won’t punish you if you think that.” The grin died out, replaced, once again, with bitterness. “I saw you,” he said. “Swift treated me much worse. You fucking got away easy, you should see the scars I have. He never beat you, or anything? You ain’t got a fucking mark on you.” 

“He… He beat me all the time,” Silas said quietly. “He just didn’t want to mark me permanently.” Silas blushed fiercely and looked down. “The- the ‘guests’ wouldn’t like that, he said. He- he said, later, when I got older and uglier, he would… make things… show…” His thin voice trailed into a nothing.

Neither of them said a word for the longest time. “Did he put you in the hole?” Taven finally asked.

Silas trembled and nodded without looking up.

Taven turned his head away, swallowing hard. He had had everything _so_ fucking wrong. Silas had had a hard time, too, and if Mr. Roth hadn’t come for the boy when he did, he would have ended up the same. 

“You… You’re safe now, you know?” Taven tried. “People here, they ain’t like that. Master Nickel, he definitely ain’t like that.” He silenced. Was he helping? Nickel had comforted him so many times, but Taven had no idea how to do the same. “I ain’t like that either,” he finally said. “I swear I ain’t. I ain’t ever gonna hit you again, I promise.”

“How about the man who took me,” Silas asked. “He comes here often? I heard he’d asked Master about me. He’s so big. He looks like Master Swift. Is he…?”

“What?” Taven grinned. “Mr. Roth? No, you have that all wrong, kid! Mr. Roth is Master’s bodyguard and he ain’t nothing like Swift either. Yeah, he’s all kinds of big and looks fucking scary, but he _is_ nice, I swear. You’d pee your pants if you knew how shitty I behaved to that guy, and he didn’t even beat me up. He sort of talks to you instead, know what I mean? He says things, so you _get_ it, and… No, you’ve got that wrong. If Master didn’t own me, I wish Mr. Roth did.”

“Really?” Silas said.

“Yeah, for sure,” Taven said. “He won’t even fuck you.”

“I know,” Silas said, flushing red again. “I- I didn’t please him.”

“No!” Taven said; throwing his hands up in exasperation, frustrated both with how Silas didn’t understand him, as well as his own inability to explain. “You get it wrong again. It ain’t about that with him. It’s just he doesn’t like that. If you’re a kid and don’t like it, he doesn’t wanna do it to you. Master, too, he only likes it, if _you_ like it.”

“Really?” Silas repeated; his good eye seemingly perpetually widened now, staring at him in fascination.

Taven straightened up, smiling proudly. “Yeah, trust me, kid,” he said. “I know them, don’t I?”

\-----o0o-----

There was no mistaking Taven’s surprise, or worry, Roth thought, when the boy returned to Nickel’s bedroom, and saw him sit in the chair under the window. The slave stared at him, slowly closing the door, not saying a word.

“Okay,” Roth started without preamble. “I want you to give me _one_ reason why I shouldn’t kick your skinny little ass, right now.”

Taven paled and backed up against the door.

Roth shook his head. “I didn’t mean it literally, boy. I’m not gonna beat you, but I’m _not_ happy with you at the moment.

Taven only kept staring at him.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. How the hell could you beat Silas up? Considering all the bad stuff people have done to you… Have you no fucking empathy at all?”

“I- I didn’t mean it,” Taven said.

“You didn’t mean it?” Roth leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you saying your fist landed in Silas’ face by accident?”

“No, but… It was like… I- I…” Taven turned this way and that, looking like a stressed animal in a trap. “I’m sorry,” he finally yelled. “I told you, I thought he’d gotten a new boy and was gonna throw me out on my ass, and with his dad all pissed off at me too, and…” Tears of desperation welled up in his eyes. “I- I freaked out.”

Roth sighed. He leaned forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “I understand all that, at least I do now. I get it how scared and desperate you must have been, and I’m sorry we didn’t explain it to you better. Freaking out; that part I get. The part I don’t understand is why you would take it out on _Silas_. Nothing of that would have been his fault, and the kid’s smaller than you. No matter what, that’s a shitty thing to do, Taven.”

“I- I didn’t wanna hurt him, Mr. Roth,” Taven said, wiping at the tears. “I wanted to hurt myself.”

Roth frowned, giving Taven a questioning look. 

“I’m fucking stupid, Mr. Roth,” Taven yelled. “I- I behave like a real ass, why wouldn’t Master tire of me? I thought he wanted another boy who’d be better behaved, and I just kept thinking, over and over, if I’d just behaved when I had the chance, and- and… Then Silas said the same fucking thing, and…”

“Said the same thing…?” Roth didn’t get it. 

“Silas said the maids told him I was doing bad stuff all the time, and he thought it was weird Master hadn’t tired of it already and sold me, and I just- just…”

“Snapped?” Roth asked.

Taven looked down, his fingers constantly wiping at his eyes. He nodded. “I didn’t really wanna hurt him, Mr. Roth, I swear.”

Roth scratched his chin. Poor Silas had inadvertently given voice to Taven’s biggest fear, and Taven had snapped. Yeah, Roth understood now, and maybe he wasn’t even angry anymore. He still needed to address the actual problem. “Okay,” he said. “You’ve apologized to Silas?”

“I did, just now. I said I was sorry, several times.”

Roth nodded. “That’s good. As I said, I’m not blaming you for freaking out, but you act out with violence when you do, and that’s what the authorities call a ‘dangerous slave’.”

Taven gasped. “I’m not!” he protested. “I’m not dangerous, Mr. Roth, I’m not.” 

“I know, boy,” Roth said. “You’re sure no threat to me, or most people, I guess. You’re just a scrawny kid with a shit load of issues.” He shook his head in sadness. “But that’s not how this society has chosen to see it, and your issues aren’t something they fucking care about. If you keep this up, you’re going to end up in very dire circumstances one day, and neither of us will be able to save you. Do you understand?” 

Taven stared, eyes wide in fear, but said nothing.

“Nickel is doing his best trying to save you from that destiny, boy. He’s trying to discipline you, wants to make you feel safer; he lets you use the gym to relieve stress. He even fitted you with that god-awful bit, but you’re just your own worst enemy, aren’t you? It doesn’t help if _we_ are working on you, when you don’t want to work on yourself, boy. I mean, what’s next, you’re gonna attack your own master?” 

Taven hung his head. “I’ll never do _that_ again,” he murmured.

“What?” Roth got out of the chair and crossed the room in a few long strides, grabbing Taven by the arm. “What did you just say?”

Taven shrunk and shook, staying quiet.

“Answer me, slave!” Roth commanded his grip hardening. “And it had _better_ be the truth.”

Taven shook worse in response, but didn’t try to get out of the grip. “I- I thought he told you long ago, Mr. Roth,” he said pitifully. “It wasn’t an attack, not really, I just- just… Fuck! It was the same day you took me here, and- and…” The desperate tears were streaming now. “I didn’t know, Mr. Roth, I didn’t know shit. How the fuck was I supposed to know he’d be that fucking nice? Who the hell would buy someone like me if it weren’t just to beat the shit out of for the fun of it? I thought he’d bought me only to have something worthless to fuck hard. I really believed all that shit was gonna start again, and I was so fucking tired. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was like something told me, inside my head, ‘Hit him! Hit him when he turns his back, and he’ll kill you, or he’ll send you back, and _they’ll_ kill you, and it’ll finally _end_.’ I only wanted it to stop, Mr. Roth, I swear. I- I didn’t wanna hurt anybody, I only wanted all the shit to stop.”

“You hit Nickel in the back?” Roth couldn’t believe his ears. Nickel had never mentioned this with a word. 

Taven shook his hanging head. “I tried. Didn’t say I actually had a chance to do it. If you haven’t noticed, Master’s fucking fast. He sorta saw I was gonna do it, and just flipped me like a damn pancake. He had me face down on the bed in like half a second. Fucking scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know he could do those things, you know,” he added, “or I’d have found a better way to kill myself.” 

Roth let go of Taven and backed away. He’d suspected that’s what Taven had tried to do, but it still somewhat shocked him to hear the boy actually saying it aloud. “You tried to commit suicide?”

Taven dried at his eyes and nodded, still not looking at him. “I ain’t ever gonna try to hurt him again, Mr. Roth, I swear, ‘cause- ‘cause I _don’t_ wanna die anymore. I wanna live; I wanna live _here_! I’m not dangerous; I’m _not_! I never wanted to hurt anybody, only- only myself.”

Roth came closer again and after a bit of hesitation he reached his hand out and cupped Taven’s wet cheek, rubbing it consolingly with his thumb. “Okay, Taven,” he said. “I do trust you with Nickel, and if you’re saying you won’t hurt either him, or anyone else, again, I believe you.” 

Taven didn’t try to avoid his hand, though he still seemed too embarrassed to look at him. “Thank you, Sir,” he said

\-----o0o-----

Leaving his boss’ bedroom Roth was surprised to learn ‘Young Master’ hadn’t yet come inside. He went back out into the gardens to look for him, and found Nickel still sitting in the exact same spot where he’d left him. Something must really be troubling him.

“Hey,” Roth said, sitting down beside him again. “You’re still ‘figuring stuff out’?”

Nickel’s gaze seemed lost somewhere in the distance. He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I… I’ve come to a decision.”

“Yes? So, what is it?”

“This wasn’t easy, Roth, believe me, it wasn’t, but it’s for the best. I’ve decided to sell Silas.”

Roth stared. He didn’t think he’d heard that correctly. “Say what?”

“Please hear me out, Roth. I know what you’re thinking, but I really do think it’s in Silas’ best interest.”

“Um, yeah,” Roth said. “I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you if you’re going to convince me of that.”

Nickel sighed deeply, but was obviously prepared for disagreement. “I’ve come to realize Taven might be more damaged than I’ve wanted to admit,” he started. “Most of the time I’m not at all sure how to handle him. Hell, who am I kidding, Roth? I have no idea what I’m doing, and half the time I’m wondering if I’m only making things worse.”

“Okay,” Roth said. “I think I know where you’re going with this. You’re in over your head as it is, and you believe you won’t be able to help both of them?”

Nickel nodded. “Yes, but even if I could, Taven can’t handle it.”

“Oh, give the kid some credit,” Roth protested. “Now that he knows Silas isn’t a threat to him, maybe he won’t mind if you share your attention. Maybe they’ll become friends even,” he added, trying to be the positive counterpart to Nickel’s unusually pessimistic mood this evening. “They do have a lot in common, after all.”

Nickel shook his head. “If I’ve learnt anything from all this it’s how fragile Taven’s self-esteem really is. I don’t think it will change easily. For the time being, yes, Taven thinks he’s safe, but as long as Silas is here he’ll always worry, deep down. Sooner or later he’ll start to wonder if I’m not about to change my mind, after all.”

“Are you actually telling me you’re going to sell Silas only to prove something to Taven? I don’t think that’s right, you know.”

“No,” Nickel protested. “That’s not at all what I’m trying to do.” He gave up an exasperated sigh and slumped back on the bench. “All right, if you’d force me to chose, then what can I say? I’d choose Taven, but that’s not what I’m doing here. I _am_ trying to think of Silas’ best. Think about it, Roth. Taven never had the training he was supposed to, but Silas did. Believe me, I’ve ‘tested’ him and he’s good. Whoever chose him for this kind of training chose well. The kid’s a natural, intelligent, attentive, graceful… With some experience, and a few more years on him, he’ll make a perfect attendant and personal slave. The thing is; Silas knows this. It’s his purpose, and he wants nothing else than to prove himself worthy. Yes, ending up with Swift must have traumatized him, but it didn’t break him. He’s still hopeful of getting to fulfill his purpose. Only, I can’t give him that.”

Roth nodded thoughtfully. “I see,” he said. 

“You follow me now?” Nickel asked, encouraged it seemed, by that he at least wasn’t being yelled at. “In this house, Silas will always play second fiddle to Taven, and I have no need for his talents. I only want him to end up with someone who can appreciate him in a way I can’t.”

“Okay, Nickel,” Roth agreed, “I understand, but selling him, just putting him out there… It’s cruel.”

Nickel looked offended. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. I’d never leave him at a market. I’d be sure to look into it properly, and wouldn’t let just anybody have him. It would have to be someone I’d feel assured would treat him right. When I find the right person, I’ll even make a gift of him. This isn’t about making a profit, after all. Even though a boy like him _is_ probably worth a small fortune, I wouldn’t really want to make money off him.” 

Roth thought about it. What his boss was saying made a lot of sense, and Nickel had obviously thought this over. Roth knew, too, his friend was honest when he said he wanted Silas’ best, and would do his utmost to find him a good home. Maybe some part of Nickel really only did want to get rid of Silas, so he could turn all his attention back to Taven, but such a wish would in no way exclude these good and honest intentions. However, in spite of understanding, he simply couldn’t agree to this. 

He shook his head. “Yeah, I can’t let you do this,” he said.

The refusal seemed to wake up the aristocrat in Nickel. “What? He is _my_ pro…”

“Yeah, I know,” Roth interrupted, dismissing the indignant protest. “He’s your legal property, and you can do what you want, but you’re not going to, because you’ll remember, Silas wouldn’t _be_ your property if I hadn’t stolen him in the first place, _and_ seen to it your name ended up on his papers. I know my legal standing here is zero, but morally, I do think I have a say.”

Nickel actually flushed red, looking away in something which couldn’t be described as anything else than shame. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you have a say.”

“So, you want to hear what I think?”

“Yes, please,” Nickel said, still looking suitably chastised. 

“I understand you mean well, Nickel,” Roth started. “I even agree with you, it _isn’t_ fair to Silas to let him stay on here, feeling useless for the rest of his life. It isn’t fair to Taven either. You’re right; the kid _would_ probably be insecure about it for the rest of _his_ life. Selling Silas seems like a good solution, but I don’t think it is. I don’t think you’ve considered everything that could go wrong with this plan. 

“First of all, do we know how damaged Silas really is? Mentally, I mean. Yeah, he _seems_ surprisingly all right, considering, but we don’t know him very well. He might just be very good at hiding stuff. Do you really want to give him over to some clan out there, only to learn he completely freaked out ‘Taven style’ a week later? I’m telling you, Nickel, if Silas is about to lose it, I’d rather he’d do it around you. I don’t really trust anyone else to not just hand him over to the authorities.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Nickel conceded.

“Yes, and I don’t fucking trust people on the whole. I know you’d do your best, but do you really think you can find him a place where _no one_ will ever abuse him again, sexually or otherwise? Yeah, I’ll grant you it might be possible, but excuse me for not believing in it.” He gave up a cynic sneer. “Besides, he can always be sold on again. It doesn’t matter how nice the buyer you’ll find might be, we _will_ lose control over his future,” he added, only to drive the point home.

Nickel didn’t say anything this time, but slowly nodded in response. He knew it was the truth.

“You talk of Silas wanting to fulfill his purpose,” Roth went on, far from dried up on arguments. “Well, I can’t argue with you; it probably _is_ the way he’s been brainwashed, but… You’re both getting ahead of yourselves here. He’s only recently been thrown into a completely new home after having being rescued from a living hell, and now you want to discard him already?”

“I’m not _discarding_ him,” Nickel protested.

Roth sighed. “I know. You’re trying to find him a _home_, but… What I’m saying is it’s too early to talk of purpose and shit like that. Yeah, he’s a well-trained personal slave, but he’s also just a kid, Nickel. What he needs right now isn’t purpose, but safety. I think he only needs to feel wanted, a chance to get to know the people who rescued him. No matter how well the new owners will treat him, he’ll have to be wondering what he did wrong that you sold him on so quickly.”

Nickel looked down. “It’s not what I want,” he said. Once again, he leaned over and rubbed at his temples. “Okay, you’re right, I can’t sell him, but what the hell _should_ I do then?” His voice held a note of desperation.”I don’t know what to do. Whatever I do now, either Silas or Taven will suffer, either that or both of them will.”

Roth sighed. He felt sorry for Nickel, fighting with such a dilemma, he did, but it wasn’t the reason he was about to say what he was. It was the right thing to do; that’s why. “I’ll take him,” he said.

“What?” 

In spite of it all, Roth couldn’t help grinning at Nickel bolting up straight and giving him such a surprised look. 

Roth shrugged his shoulders. “It’s clearly the most logical solution,” he said. “Silas already knows me, somewhat. At least I’ll be a familiar face. In addition, he knows I’m in your employ, so if we frame this right he might see it as a kind of ‘honorable assignment’ being given to his master’s bodyguard. It might go some way toward ‘fulfilling his purpose’. Right? Most importantly, I’m not far away. I’m out here all the time anyway, and I’ll bring Silas as often as I can. He’ll have all the time in the world to get to know everybody, and be a part of something. At the same time, Silas belonging to me would put Taven’s mind at rest about this whole thing. By giving Silas away, you can prove to Taven, after all, that he comes first, but without shipping poor Silas off to strangers. Lastly, you don’t need to worry about his future. I’d never let anything happen to the kid.”

Nickel brightened up, looking like a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. “It’s… It’s brilliant, Roth!” he exclaimed, but then his shoulders slumped again, and the worried frown returned. “I don’t understand, though,” he said. “When you brought Silas to the mansion, you told me, most emphatically as I recall, you would never own a slave. Have you changed your mind?”

Roth squirmed. He hadn’t pondered the moral implications before he spoke, he had really only wanted to help Silas. Roth thought back to the other day and how sickened he’d been about the whole thing. He’d meant what he’d said, all right. Roth never wanted to own another human being; he knew that now. “I… Um… Just keep his papers!” he finally said. “We’ll make it a special arrangement. You remain his legal owner, and I’ll only take care of him for you, okay?”

He wasn’t quite all right with his own words, it felt wrong somehow, maybe even hypocritical, but this wasn’t the time for moral quandaries. It was either this, or Silas might be lost to him completely. 

Nickel nodded. “If that’s how you want it.” He still looked worried. “I can’t express how grateful I’d be if you’d take Silas in,” he said. “But I can’t let you walk into this not knowing everything. Silas’ stay in the South End had consequences, I’m afraid. The boy has STDs,” he finally revealed.

“Oh, God,” Roth said, wishing for a fleeting moment he’d just shot Swift that time in his apartment. 

“Silas must take his medicines,” Nickel continued. ”You would have to take him back for checkups. Are you prepared to handle such issues?”

That was the big question, wasn’t it? What the hell was he doing, saying he was going to take care of the boy? He _wasn’t_ prepared, had no experience with kids to speak of; didn’t know how to… If _Nickel_ was wondering if he was doing more damage than good, then Roth feared this ever as much, probably more. However, the last he wanted was for Nickel to think he’d be cowardly and pull out this easily. He simply had to grow up and man the responsibility. If a young lord could do it, then so could he.

“Yes!” Roth answered, hoping none of his insecurity showed in his voice. “I told you, I’ll do it!”

Now was the moment where Nickel should look relieved and thank him again, but his boss was still frowning. “So, this means you’ll take the boy back to the South End?” he asked.

Roth repressed a moan, again battling the feeling of having spoken way too soon about all of this. Nickel’s carefully worded ‘question’ was really nothing of the sort, Roth knew. Moving out of the South End was something Nickel used to nag him about all the time, until it seemed he’d finally realized it wasn’t going to happen and stopped bringing it up. Now he’d given Nickel a good reason to bring it up again. 

He felt defensive. Why shouldn’t he take Silas to the South End? There were thousands of kids growing up in those parts, and… Well, all right, most of them probably didn’t deserve to grow up there either, and, okay, maybe it _would_ scare Silas to take him back, and…

Oh, damn it. Roth thought, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let Silas live down there. He’d be as much a prisoner in _his_ apartment as he’d been in Swift’s, because, slave passes or no, no way in hell would he ever let the kid out on those streets on his own, not even when he got older.

“You know, I can find you a good place in a matter of days,” Nickel prodded when he remained silent. “It wouldn’t be a problem whatsoever.”

Yeah, Roth didn’t doubt his boss could. The Wren clan owned property in the city, of course. Nickel only had to say the word and no housing queues would matter. Roth scowled at the idea, was he really prepared to change his whole life only because of some slave boy he hardly even knew? 

However, maybe this wasn’t about Silas at all. It struck him he’d actually told Swift he was saving up to move out of the ‘hell hole’ for good. Why had he said that? Well, he’d improvised, to make his story more plausible, but maybe there had been more to it. 

Why did he put so much of his earnings in the bank, while living as poorly as before? Was he afraid people down there would think he’d ‘sold out to the clans’? Did their opinions really matter that much to him? Why did he hold on to this nostalgia for the South End anyway? It really wasn’t the same as he remembered it from his childhood. The area had become much worse since, hadn’t it? It was more run down, had more crimes and violence than when he was a kid, and all those drugs… Did he really want neighbors like Swift? 

He’d changed, too. Roth had to admit he wasn’t the same person he used to be. He’d worked for Nickel quite a few years now, and he’d gotten a new outlook on life, he couldn’t deny that. Maybe his widening perspective could be both a positive and a negative thing, he wasn’t sure, but it was still a fact. 

Maybe he simply didn’t belong in the South End anymore, regardless. Did he ever go out to his old hangouts these days? Very rarely. Did any of his family still live there? No, they didn’t. Where were all his old friends? He didn’t see any of them anymore. A few were dead, he’d heard, some had turned to crime, and some had made something of themselves, and had moved out. What was he trying to prove by staying? The South End hadn’t inspired him to do something with his life; he’d done that _in spite_ of living there, not _because_ of it.

“You know what?” Roth heard himself saying. “Find that place, and I’ll move!”

“Really?” Nickel looked surprised he had actually taken the suggestion to heart this time. “Are you sure?” he said. “I mean… Do you really mean that?”

Roth nodded. “I do,” he said, determined. “Actually, as much as it grieves me to admit it, you’ve been right all along, Nickel. I’m a fucking thirty-five year old single guy with a failed marriage behind me; do I really want to sit alone in a shabby rat hole for the rest of my life? I’m going nowhere in life, it’s time for a change. You know what, with or without Silas, I’ll move, but he _is_ coming with me. I’ll talk to Dr. Cordeaux myself about his next appointment.”

Nickel looked shocked to say the least, but in a good way. Actually, his young boss was practically beaming, smiling widely. ”Well, let’s go back to the house then, and get everything in order for you,” he said, jumping to his feet in enthusiasm.

Roth smiled back. He didn’t know if Nickel’s happiness was just that contagious, but he started to feel somewhat excited about the whole thing himself.


	52. Conversations with a Head Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from my trip, and I've had a great time. :-) I'm only a day late in posting then. Not that bad. So, this is the next chapter then, and... what IS Daddy Dearest up to...
> 
> /Fran

Taven turning up at his door with a police officer had been surprising. Swift ending up in his living room talking with him had been one of those things he’d never thought would happen. This, however, this took the grand prize. Answering his door, Roth couldn’t have been more surprised if it had been Santa standing on the stairs. He was literally speechless.

Lord Wren Senior had to speak first. “Good afternoon, Mr. Roth. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Of course, where are my manners?” Roth snapped out of it and stepped aside, motioning the old man inside, taking his coat. “Excuse my surprise, Lord Wren,” he said in a way of apology. “I beg your pardon, but… Should you be visiting these parts, Sir?”

The old lord walked inside the apartment, and into his living room, his hands crossed behind his back and his large stomach and chest sticking out in an obvious ‘make way for the lord’- kind of manner. 

“Oh, I didn’t come on my own, of course, thank you for your concern, Mr. Roth. My bodyguards are waiting outside.” He looked about the room. “So, this is how you live?” The lord leaned forward and gave a small classic painting on the wall a short scrutiny. “Ah, reproduction!” he said.

Goodness, Roth thought. How could Taven ever have mistaken this man for anything else than a lord, no matter what he’d been wearing. “Uh, it’s not much of a place, I guess, though, I’ll be moving soon. I don’t know if Nickel mentioned that…” Roth winced and cut himself short; the old lord was of course not interested in his living situation, current or future. “Uh, can I offer you something, Sir? Coffee? Tea…?” 

“Coffee, black, thank you, Mr. Roth, that’ll be just fine.”

Thank God for that, Roth thought, hurrying out into his kitchen, he didn’t think he had any tea, and no cream either. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but the visit made him both uncomfortable and self-conscious. It wasn’t that the Head Lord was _trying_ to be condescending or anything, but he couldn’t hide his discomfort at the ‘squalor’ either. Imagine, _reproductions_ on the walls, the horror of such misery. 

Roth rolled his eyes, fiddling with the coffeemaker. He shouldn’t let the old geezer intimidate him so much. All right, Lord Wren Senior was his friend’s aging father, as well as his actual employer, and as such deserved respect. Roth had still always disliked how the old lord so effortlessly made him feel he should be bowing and scraping to him. 

He took the opportunity to look through the kitchen window to the street below and immediately spotted the bodyguards. He supposed Lord Wren thought he’d taken the estate’s most inconspicuous car to come over here. Maybe the lord had meant for those two men in the black suits and sunshades to be discreet, too, but in this neighborhood, the whole ensemble stood out like a sore thumb. A small group of young men had already gathered at the other side of the street, trying to act indifferent, but very obviously checking out the mysterious suits and their fancy car. Roth grinned and shook his head. If Nickel ever demanded of him to go about dressed like that as his bodyguard, he would laugh his ass off.

Well, it only further emphasized just how out of the ordinary this visit really was, and Roth was contemplating possible reasons while he waited on the coffee and looked through his cupboards for some biscuits, or something similar, to go with it. He had a notion, but who knew what the old man was up to.

In his living room, Lord Wren had taken a seat on the couch, or rather perching stiffly on the edge of it. Roth tried to pretend he didn’t know the cushions were covered in cat hair while he served the lord his coffee and offered a biscuit. He finally sat down with a cup of his own, trying to decide whether he should ask the lord straight out what on earth he was doing here or not, but he didn’t have to.

“You must be wondering what I want with you, Mr. Roth,” the lord said, taking a sip from his cup. “I will not keep you in suspense any longer. I want to talk with you about my son.”

Well, that was direct, Roth thought. He’d suspected something like that, but it didn’t make him less uncomfortable. “I’m not sure how _I_ can help, Sir,” he said, hoping to hide behind the fact he was only a simple bodyguard.

Lord Wren Senior only smiled at that. “I’m very well aware what you are to my son, and it’s more than only a bodyguard,” he said. “Nickel considers you a close friend and confidant.”

Roth squirmed a little. “This doesn’t bother you, Sir?”

“I admit there are times I wish my son would be a bit more forward among his own kind, but he’s chosen to rely on you and so far I’ve had no reason to criticize his judgment in this.”

Roth awkwardly coughed into his fist. It was not a small compliment, he realized, and he had no idea how to reply. 

“Well,” the lord continued. “If anyone could tell me what I want to know, I figured it might be you.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Sir,” Roth said. “I’m not all that comfortable with discussing Nickel behind his back like this.”

Lord Wren Senior smiled approvingly. “That’s a true friend speaking, Mr. Roth. I understand. If you’re not comfortable with a question I might have, please feel free not to answer. I only want advice, and someone to talk to who knows him.”

The man uttering those words was more the worried father and less the controlling Head Lord. Roth could empathize, no harm in hearing the old man out. He finally nodded his consent to the conversation.

Lord Wren looked relieved, “Could you tell me, Mr. Roth, is Nickel serious about that boy?” 

“Taven, you mean?” Roth thoughtlessly asked. 

Lord Wren stiffened at the mentioning of the name, his face turning a bright red. Roth nearly got up, ready to catch the old man, believing for a fleeting moment he was having a stroke. 

He wasn’t; he was only angry. 

“Do not… Do _not_ use my son’s name for that awful creature,” the old man pressed out between clenched teeth. “I can’t even _begin_ to understand what on earth went through Nickel’s mind.”

Roth winced and looked down in embarrassment. What kind of an idiot was he? “I… I’m terribly sorry, Lord Wren. That was thoughtless and insensitive. I… It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roth, I’d appreciate it,” the old lord said, gathering himself, the color of his face turning a few shades lighter. “Let me ask you again, _is_ he serious about that horrid thing.”

“I’m not sure I’m following…?”

“Is he in love with the boy, Mr. Roth?”

Roth nearly choked on the biscuit he’d been absentmindedly nibbling at. He hadn’t quite expected _that_ level of directness. 

“Uh,” Roth said. He knew the answer, of course, but Nickel had himself never actually admitted it, not in words. It wouldn’t be right of _him_ to put those words in Nickel’s mouth, now would it? “I think this is the type of question you will have to ask your son, Sir.”

Lord Wren sighed deeply. “I see. It’s _that_ bad, is it?”

Roth repressed a sigh of his own. What did the old man expect him to say? Yes, his son had a crush, was that really so bad? Of course, he knew the answer to that, too. 

The old lord shook his head in worry. “It’s not really that it’s a boy,” he said. “Nickel and I have never spoken of such intimate matters, but I’m still aware of his preferences. Oh, I do think he _does_ fancies women, it’s only he seems to have this unfortunate interest in young men, as well. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Roth, it doesn’t at all shock me. Such inclinations are common enough, I suppose. It _is_ unfortunate, but it doesn’t really matter; great men through history have had similar interests.”

Roth nodded. “I guess so, Sir,” he agreed.

“In either case,” the lord continued. “Young men enjoy ‘experimentation’, isn’t it so, Mr. Roth? He wouldn’t be the first young clan lord to play around a little. Far would it be from me to begrudge him of having a bit of fun overall, before marriage and children. I was once young myself; I remember…” The old man smiled mischievously over the rim of his coffee cup in stark contrast to his age and lordly dignity. 

Then what’s the problem, Roth thought, well, apart from Taven having the wrong name, and a much too big mouth, of course. The old lord would tell him, he suspected. Roth silently waited for the rest.

“I never thought I would say this as a father, Mr. Roth,” Lord Wren went on, “but the problem is that Nickel never really ‘plays around’, does he? He is so much like his mother, consumed by all these big emotions, to his own detriment. I’m certain you know what I speak of, Mr. Roth. You witnessed his ‘affair’ with Constantine’s slave.” Lord Wren shook his head.

“I don’t blame him for wanting the boy,” he continued. “Serenity can be quite hard to resist. I confess, I’ve bedded the slave once myself. Oh, don’t take it the wrong way, Mr. Roth. Males were never of interest to me, but… Serenity’s beauty is of a kind that might transcend gender, wouldn’t you say?”

Roth couldn’t help gaping like a fish. Serenity had even managed to get between the sheets with Nickel’s father. That slave had sure been around. What a little devil. “Uh,” Roth said, scrambling for any words that wouldn’t make the old lord self-conscious about his confession. “I suppose Serenity _would_ make quite the woman,” he finally said. He really would, Roth admitted, though a biologically female Serenity would have interested him just as much as a male one, that is to say, not at all. That fashion model type was just way too skinny. Roth had always preferred a bit more flesh to hold on to.

“Ah, well, I would appreciate if you didn’t tell Nickel about it,” the lord said, looking slightly embarrassed. “It was before he started to see the boy himself, but I suspect he would still take such news badly.”

“I won’t mention it with a word, Sir,” Roth promised, thinking he sure as hell wouldn’t. He was damn near absolute certain Nickel wouldn’t _want_ to know that.

“Well, as I was saying, the problem was that Nickel _didn’t_ play with Serenity. He fell in love with the boy and didn’t even have the sense to hide it properly. He didn’t _use_ that slave, Mr. Roth; he had a _relationship_ with him. Nickel completely lost his head, and the slave’s head got as big as the world. It’s _inappropriate_, not to say, unacceptable. Another clan’s property to boot… How embarrassing.” The Wren clan’s Head Lord shook his head again, in a most disapproving manner. 

“I was going to put a stop to the whole thing, when luckily; Serenity’s total lack of morals quite nicely did the job for me. Nickel found out on his own the slave didn’t look upon their ‘affair’ the same way he did.”

Roth frowned. He didn’t like the callous way the lord spoke of the breakup. “That _was_ pretty rough on Nickel, Sir,” he pointed out. 

The old lord’s eyes softened. “Yes, Mr. Roth, I realize that. Please understand, it’s hard for a father to know their child is hurting, but… It was still for the best.” 

Roth didn’t protest further. It was his honest opinion that the clan’s obsession with proprieties was fucking stupid, but he supposed he couldn’t argue the fact the breakup probably _had_ been for the best. 

Instead, he was surprised to hear Nickel’s father had actually been about to take action against the whole thing. He’d had no idea the old lord had been so well informed, and he was sure Nickel wasn’t aware of this either. Damn, the Head Lord wasn’t always as ‘retired’ as it seemed, was he? Roth suspected, apart from occasionally hearing some of the usual clan gossip, he could probably make a spy of every single slave at the mansion, _if_ he thought it was needed. They would readily tell their true master everything they saw and heard, after all. 

“Now,” Lord Wren said. “In light of what I’ve learnt lately, Nickel buying a personal slave without as much as a mentioning of the boy to his own father, his reluctance to get rid of a slave so ill suited for the job, not to mention naming the wretch after… Well, as I’m sure you understand, Mr. Roth, I fear he might have lost his head once again. Would you agree this is the case?”

Roth looked down and scratched at his neck. “Um…”

“I see,” the lord said. “That’s what I feared. At least, with Serenity I can understand the temptation, but _this_ one…” Lord Wren’s face contorted in a grimace of disgust. “What on earth is it about this boy that holds Nickel’s interest? I can’t for the life of me understand.”

Roth frowned. “I’ll grant you, the boy is no Serenity, but he’s not exactly ugly, Sir.”

Lord Wren sighed. “Very well, Mr. Roth, I have eyes to see with and I admit the boy might be considered attractive to some. For one thing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an exotic with quite such remarkable hair, but I’m not necessarily referring to the slave’s decorative values here. Apart from having the misfortune of being acquainted with the boy’s foul mouth myself, I’ve gathered a rather substantial amount of information regarding this slave’s nature overall, and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. Even apart from my son’s unfortunate tendency to fall for men, _and_ slaves, this is _not_ a suitable attendant in any way, shape or form, and _not_ who I wish would serve his personal needs. It does shock me how Nickel isn’t at all able to see this for himself.”

“Well,” Roth said. “I suppose I can’t really argue with you on that point, Sir, but… Nickel might not have had a chance to explain just what kind of horrors that poor thing has gone through in life. I hope you can find it in your heart to excuse at least some of the slave’s shortcomings if you know how badly abused he’s been. The slave’s previous owners mistreated him in the extreme, physically, mentally, sexually…. If I say he was tortured, Sir, I’m not exaggerating. His body still bears the marks of it, and finding him at that market… Your son was his last chance.

“I understand this might not make a difference to you, Sir,” Roth finished. “I mean, it does still leave your son with a less than appropriate slave, but I’ll still ask of you to not fault Nickel for having a good heart.” 

Lord Wren looked taken aback at his words. Oh, Nickel _hadn’t_ had a chance to describe Taven’s background then. 

“I did not know this, Mr. Roth,” the old lord finally said. “If it’s true what you’re saying then I’m appalled. I know there are irresponsible slave owners, and such abusive treatment isn’t something I condone. If Nickel wanted to save the boy from these horrible conditions then please don’t think I would blame him. I know my son is a goodhearted person, Mr. Roth, and I wouldn’t want him any other way. However, if that’s all Nickel wanted, then why didn’t he simply cut the boy’s hair and put him to work somewhere on the estate? The older slaves would have sorted him out and taken all these bad manners out of him in no time. Nickel could have rested assure the sad creature wouldn’t be further mistreated in my house. I still don’t understand what would make Nickel _fall_ for the boy.”

Roth squirmed, sensing he was starting to tread on dangerous grounds, but the old man was once again only the worried father and kept staring imploringly, desperate to understand. “What can I say, Sir? I think, for Nickel, taking care of the boy himself, it gives him a sense of purpose in a way.”

“A purpose?” the lord exclaimed, clearly offended by the mere idea. “Is that a purpose for a lord; to spend his valuable time pampering some badly treated slave?”

Roth knew he would regret it as soon as he opened his mouth, but he just couldn’t help himself. The Head Lord’s words simply made him angry. 

“Sir, what purpose _does_ Nickel serve then? Your estate runs like clockwork, the slaves take care of everything, and all I ever see Nickel doing is signing some papers now and then. Hell, if one of them learned to forge his signature I’m pretty sure no one would even notice if Nickel decided to leave town for a year or two. All he has _is_ time. Nickel needs more than that. He needs someone to need him. The redhead might just be a worthless slave to you, Sir, but he’s also a _human being_ and a severely damaged one at that. Would it really be so bad if a lord felt this was more important to him than fancy dress balls and titles?

“Look, Sir… Lord Wren, I understand your misgivings about the whole thing and I agree. Nickel could have handled this better. I don’t know what went through his mind either when he named the slave after his brother. It was in bad taste and certainly inconsiderate to a grieving father, but… Watching his much beloved little brother waste away without being able to do anything about it, I think that experience marked Nickel in a profound way. Don’t get me wrong, Sir, I’m not saying the slave reminds him of his brother. The redhead is clearly not remotely similar to your youngest son, either in looks or anything else. I don’t think it’s even a conscious thing with Nickel, but getting to save that slave… Once again, it was a matter of life and death, Sir. Only, this time, Nickel _could_ do something.

“Maybe ‘purpose’ is too strong a word, Sir, but add to this that the slave _is_ obviously attractive to Nickel… I don’t know if you noticed, Sir, how Nickel is, sort of… Uh, you know, the- the _hair_ thing, and…” Roth coughed into his fist. “Well, all I’m saying is, physical attraction, together with this ‘kick’ he gets out of being so needed, having someone so desperately dependant on him, feeling like a savior… Yeah, emotionally, that can probably be a rather powerful combination. I think you can only be certain of one thing here, Sir. Nickel will _not_ let go of that boy without a fight.”

The silence that followed at this rant of his at once turned uncomfortable, and indeed, it didn’t take many seconds for Roth to regret every single word he’d just said. Was he crazy? None of this was his business, and he might have just made things a lot worse for both Nickel and Taven by letting his mouth run. Besides, what right did he have to play armchair psychiatrist like this; analyzing his friend’s motives and behavior to a third party? If Nickel found out, he wouldn’t blame him at all if he were angry as hell.

“Sir,” he hurried to say. “Sir, I apologize, I was way out of line, and…”

Old Lord Wren raised a hand to cut him off. “You might have been out of line, Mr. Roth,” he agreed. “However, I do appreciate your candor. I’m glad you told me the truth, as you see it. It was, after all, what I came for.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel’s father didn’t stay long after that, and Roth was relieved the old man hadn’t seemed angry after all.

Roth was still worried. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what all this could lead to. What would old Lord Wren think about the whole thing now, and had anything he said in any way changed the old man’s plans, and, in that case, in which direction?

He winced as he recalled his ranting. He shouldn’t have said Nickel wouldn’t give Taven up without a fight. Maybe the old lord would see it as a challenge. 

Well, he _had_ said all those things, and it was too late to take any of it back.

\-----o0o-----

“Yes?” Nickel put the paperwork down at the knock on the study door. He was surprised when only a small crack opened and his father peeked inside.

“Am I interrupting anything, son? Can I come inside?”

“Well, it _is_ your house, father.” 

The snide tone was probably uncalled for, but Nickel couldn’t help himself. His father had pretty much ignored him for several days now, except for dinner, where none of them said anything outside of the absolute necessary, making it the same uncomfortable event every evening. If his father was now suddenly prepared to talk without yelling at him, Nickel thought he could be excused for not reacting with joyous excitement. 

At least when they’d had conflicts in the past, Virgil, his father’s personal slave, had always had a comforting word for his master’s child, and had done his best, in his own unassuming and submissive way, to pour oil on troubled waters. However, his father had left the old slave behind this time. Apparently, he’d thrown his back out and wasn’t able to leave his bed. 

Well, Virgil’s presence might have made no difference in any case. Nickel didn’t think they had ever had a conflict as deep as this. It wasn’t the same, after all, as when Nickel had occasionally neglected his homework as a schoolboy, or had harmlessly teased his brother.

His father came inside and grabbed one of the guest chairs along the wall, sitting down across from him. “Nickel, there have been upset feelings,” he started. “We have been talking past each other. Let’s give this another chance and speak of the matter as one adult to another.”

Nickel raised his eyebrows. His father was prepared to extend an olive branch it seemed. It would be immature of him not to act gracious in return. “Of course, father,” he agreed. 

His father smiled. “Let me ask you again then, are you still determined not to punish your slave for what he did?”

Nickel tensed, already fearing this ‘talk’ would end as badly as before. “I have punished him father,” he said. “I’ve explained to you how it was a misunderstanding, and he’s aware what he did was still wrong. He regrets it deeply. What you are really asking me is if I have changed my mind about _physically_ punishing him, which I have _not_.”

His father sighed. “Does your reluctance to give this particular slave a physical reminder have something to do with his troubled past, perhaps?”

“I don’t think I’ve mentioned his past,” Nickel said, puzzled. 

“It hardly needs mentioning,” his father said. “There’s obviously _something_ wrong with him, and I don’t think it’s by your hand.”

“He… He _has_ been severely abused in the past,” Nickel admitted, expecting another round of variations on just how little common sense he had, buying such a slave in the first place. 

“Well then,” his father said. “I suppose a flogging, though well deserved, would probably do such a slave more damage than good. I’d be prepared to forego this demand.” 

This was a surprising development, indeed. Nickel was relieved. “Thank you, father,” he said. 

“However, you must understand a father’s worry over keeping such a creature in the house at all. Can he be trusted?”

“He’s not dangerous, father. He might have a bit of a- a problem controlling his mouth, but, he’s not aggressive, not as such.”

“His bark is worse than his bite, you say? Well, how come then I was just told he recently gave one of the house boys a black eye?”

Nickel startled. His father hadn’t yet noticed the other exotic in the house, and Nickel would rather not explain his presence, as he knew his father would think Silas was a better choice. If his father had misunderstood Taven’s latest deed as committed against one of the house slave’s children, then he wasn’t going to disabuse him of this notion. “These occasional skirmishes between the slave boys,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything. Father, I can assure you…”

“All right,” his father interrupted with a raised hand. “I’ll trust your judgment, son.”

Nickel wasn’t so sure his father really would, but it was obvious the Head Lord was making a real effort meeting him half way, which in its turn made him quite nervous about the demands the old lord would _not_ be prepared to forego. 

“I gather this means you would also still refuse to sell the boy?”

Nickel didn’t even deem that worthy of an answer. He only stubbornly set his jaw and gave his father a single nod.

“I see. Would you at least consider removing the slave from your personal service and put him to work elsewhere on the estate?”

“No!” Nickel answered with some emphasis. 

His father shook his head with a disapproving expression. “Nickel, you’re not being reasonable. Surely you realize such a slave doesn’t belong with a lord.”

“I feel he belongs with _me_,” Nickel protested.

The worry on his father’s face increased in tenfold, and he looked every bit his advanced age. “Son, have you developed feelings for the boy?” he asked.

Nickel’s ears heated up. He looked away, not knowing how to answer. The Head Lord wasn’t stupid. He denied it, his father would know he was lying, but if he admitted it, his father might drop all pretenses of meeting him half way and simply put his foot down. If the Head Lord chose to use his power fully, then Nickel had nothing to oppose. His father would throw Taven out of the estate, and if he weren’t willing to share that destiny, the boy would be lost to him.

“I… I care about him,” he finally said.

His father nodded; the same worried expression on his face. “Nickel, I was young once, too. Don’t think I don’t remember how the blood can run hot. I understand you wanted to save him from a harsh life, and I can see how this slave might appeal to you, as well. If you don’t hear him speak, there _is_ certain charm to his looks. Developing a crush in such circumstances is perhaps not strange, but it will pass. You’re young, Nickel, believe me; it will pass. This isn’t your first crush, after all, and it won’t be your last. You’re a good person, son, but you’ve done enough for that poor thing. Give a bit of thought to your future, and let that thing go!”

“Taven is not a ‘thing’, father,” Nickel blurted out.

His father got up from the chair with surprising speed and banged his fist on the desktop right in front of him, hard enough to knock things over and fall on the floor. “Do _not_ call him by your brother’s name!” he roared.

Nickel shrank back into the chair, unable to get a word out, shocked at the sudden rage and not braver in the face of it than a small child. However, he reminded himself, he wasn’t a small child anymore. Nickel pulled himself together with some effort, and sat up straight in the chair. 

He’d agreed to talk about this as one adult to another, which meant Nickel should apologize like an adult, too. 

“Father,” he said, forcing himself to look his father in the eyes. “I’m truly sorry I did such a thing. It wasn’t right of me, and… Will you at least let me explain why?”

His father muttered something that sounded like an agreement, but didn’t sit back down.

“The boy didn’t have a name,” Nickel explained. “He’d never had a name, or at least he didn’t remember being given one, and when he told me what they did call him I felt so terribly bad for him. I only wanted to give him a proper name for the first time in his life, and it was the first that came to me. I should have thought of how it would make you feel, but instead I only thought of how _Taven_ wouldn’t have minded. I’m not the only son of yours with a soft heart, father. Taven wouldn’t have minded; I know in my heart he wouldn’t have.”

His father still looked both upset and angry, but he finally sat back down.

“Disrespecting either of you was the last thing I meant to do,” Nickel continued. “I meant to honor the generosity of my brother, not to soil his memory. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you,” he added.

“It really wouldn’t be very hard, son,” his father said. “Simply give the slave another name and we shan’t speak of it further.”

He winced. “Father, please don’t force me to. It’d be cruel to change it now when he’s become so used to it. I… I will not let anyone speak it aloud where you can hear it.”

“Nickel, Nickel, what is this nonsense. Surely, the boy can easily learn to get used to another name. He’s a _slave_; surely, he knows he has no legal right to _any_ name, that he doesn’t actually have a name in any case. He has a _registration number_, that’s what he has.” 

As aware as Nickel had always been of this fact, suddenly he couldn’t accept it. “Yes, father,” he said, surprised at the cold repressed anger in his voice. “A number is all that he is, but I can change that, can’t I? I- I’ll free him. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll _free_ him, and he can choose for himself, any name he wants.”

For a few seconds his father’s eyes widened, but then he seemed to recognize Nickel’s blurted words for the empty threat they were. The Head Lord smiled. “Son, we are talking about a teenage boy here, with obvious issues. They would simply not accept your application. The authorities would sooner take him away from you at such an attempt.”

Nickel seethed inside. His father was right, of course. To free a slave the owner had to have said slave prove they were capable of supporting themselves, as well as showing neither anti-social tendencies nor mental instability, or the authorities wouldn’t even consider granting them citizenship. They would never consider Taven on the grounds of his age alone, and even if he had been old enough, he would show too much nervousness or crack completely at the first hearing. The much more likely outcome _would_ be making the authorities aware of his issues, and Nickel would risk having the boy taken from him. 

His father was correct, and he was being silly. Normally, Nickel might have admitted this, but today he was still too angry, hurt and resentful about the whole thing, and not least, annoyed at how his father always came out on top in these arguments. He simply wasn’t ready to admit defeat. 

“Well, there is one way they would approve,” he said. “They’d grant him citizenship, if- if I married him, now wouldn’t they?”

“What?” his father yelled, looking like he didn’t believe his ears. “Have you gone mad?”

Maybe he had. In fact, Nickel hardly believed himself what he’d just said. Still he straightened up in defiance, raising his chin. “I _will_ marry him,” he stubbornly repeated. 

“You can’t,” his father said, staring at him in incredulity. “He… He’s a _he_.”

“Times have progressed since your days, father. The law permits same sex marriages. I can do it.”

For the first time, the Head Lord seemed to have lost his composure. “I can’t believe you’re serious,” he gasped.

Oh, of course he wasn’t serious, or… Was he? If things had been different, would he have wanted to be in a real relationship with Taven? Would he have wanted a real, equal relationship, sanctioned by the state? Married. To Taven. Nickel honestly couldn’t tell, because things weren’t different, and would never be. 

“I really do care very deeply for him, father,” he answered. At least that part was true. 

His father watched him in silence, the seconds ticking by. Nickel held his breath at the intense scrutiny. He honestly couldn’t tell if his father was going to try to talk him out of it, or completely blow up in his face. 

“Son, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying,” his father finally said, patience in his voice. 

Talking him out of it, it was then.

“Can’t you see how selfish you’re being?” his father said. “You claim to care about this boy. Then why would you put him through such hell? I’ve no doubt your feelings for the slave is genuine, but have you even once stopped to think what _he_ feels about you? Oh, I’m sure he’s been very convincing declaring his devotion. That’s what they do, Nickel. What else _can_ they do? Well, if you can live with the uncertainty, then by all means, do, but at least consider what kind of life you’d condemn that poor creature to.

“How do you think people in our circles would view this? If you really did make him your wi… husb… whatever you’d call such a thing, no one would accept him. He would forever only be a former slave and a male whore with no manners whatsoever. For goodness sake, that accent alone… Anyone you’d ever meet would openly ridicule, despise and look down on him. The clans would utterly destroy him. You might think _your_ love could stand such opposition, that you’d be strong enough, but… Is _he_, Nickel? Is he strong enough?”

Nickel looked down, flushing red, only now realizing just how childish his silly threats were, but his father wasn’t finished.

“I can’t believe you’d care so little for the clan’s reputation and future, son. You’re young, that’s all, and feel the weight of responsibility. It’s only natural you’d shift uneasily under what you still consider a yoke. I understand. At your age, I felt much the same.

“However, I grew up and so will you. You will want to marry one day, Nickel, marry a woman and have children. I know you care about this place, about the clan, and how you one day will want to leave it all to your own son, just as much as I want to leave it to you. On the other hand, if you’d choose such a different lifestyle, choose a marriage so detrimental to the future of the clan, I… I would be forced to disown you. Do you really want to break my heart in such a thoughtlessly cruel way? Haven’t I lost too much already?” 

Nickel couldn’t raise his head to look his father in the eyes. The Head Lord was not a stranger to heartbreaking loss. 

He was well aware of his father’s history. The marriage to his mother had been a loveless arranged affair, and his father had had little in common with his considerably younger wife. It was his father’s first wife who had been the love of his life, and the only reason the Head Lord had married again, within a year after she had passed away in breast cancer, was that his first marriage had been childless. 

Nickel knew his father had felt forced to disregard debilitating grief in his perceived duty to give the clan an heir, especially after having neglected this duty for far too long already, staying loyal to a woman who could not bear children. If she hadn’t died, the title would most likely have been passed on to the only nephew, Leonard. 

It didn’t happen. His father had married again. Nickel’s mother had done _her_ duty and given his already aged father not one, but two sons, even while there was no love, attraction, friendship or even respect lost between them. When his brother had passed away, his mother had left and never looked back. 

Yes, his father had already lost too much, and _he_ was all the Head Lord had left. 

“I’m sorry, father,” Nickel said, truly and thoroughly defeated this time. “You’re right, of course. I spoke too soon. You needn’t worry; I will neither free him, nor marry him. I only ask of you, please let me keep him, and I promise I’ll do a better job of reining him in, in the future. He will not be bothering you or anyone else again.”

His father gave him a sad look. “Do you really have such a need for this boy?”

Nickel sighed. He supposed there was no point in arguing anymore, and there was nothing left other than hoping his father would show compassion. He nodded.

“All right, Nickel. All I ever wanted for you was to be happy and content. I know I demand a lot of you, but I want you prepared for everything the future will hold. I’m old and tired; I don’t have the strength to keep up this war with you. I might die tomorrow. We should be friends, Nickel, don’t you agree?”

Nickel nodded, of course he agreed. 

“Well, then, if the slave really is this important to you, I’ll give him official concubine status, and assign him to you. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract tomorrow if that suits you. Don’t get me wrong, son. This doesn’t mean I’ll accept him. On the contrary, he is probably the least suitable slave to have ever been made a concubine in the entire history of the clans, but, if it’ll make you happy…”

Nickel literally gasped in sheer shock, at first too stunned at the sudden turnabout to utter a single word. He couldn’t believe it. His father giving Taven the privileges was the last outcome he’d expected from this talk, to say the least.

“Father…? I… What?” 

“It’s not what you would want?” his father asked.

“It… It is, but… I would have never thought… Are you serious?”

“Of course, I’m serious, son. I wouldn’t joke so cruelly with you. Though I’m sure you understand, considering the slave’s obvious unsuitability, I can’t do this entirely without conditions. If I do this for you, Nickel, you have to do a few things for me, as well. It would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

Nickel sank back into the chair. Of course there would be conditions, it _had_ sounded too good to be true. “Such as…?” he asked.

“I will only ask of you what I would have been fully justified asking anyway,” his father answered. “In all, think of the clan’s reputation. Keep that slave in check, and do not use your brother’s name for him in any public situations or in front of me, and… Marry, Nickel! Marry before you turn thirty! I don’t care who you marry. I will stay out of any traditional interference in the matter, as long as she’s clan, and, well, a she.”

Nickel said nothing, staring.

“You can’t say I’m asking much of you, son. You do this for me, and the boy will be yours, for as long as you’ll want him, and I will have relinquished all rights to dismiss him from here.”

Nickel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded as if his father had planned this all along. Oh, damn it, Nickel swore inside his head, his father _had_ planned it. At first, yes, he’d tried once again to reason with him and his cooperation at this stage had probably been preferable to the Head Lord, but obviously, there had been a ‘plan B’. Nickel swore silently to himself again. The more stubborn he’d been in his refusal to give up Taven; the more he’d validated the use of this ‘plan B’. Having revealed just how much Taven meant to him, his father now knew there was no way he would decline this offer.

He’d walked _right_ into this one, hadn’t he?

For a moment, Nickel was bitter. No matter how much his father loved him; he was still ‘a breeder’ first, to ensure the clan’s survival, wasn’t he? He felt trapped, stifled, as if his freedom was only an illusion and he was nothing but another piece of the clan’s property, no freer than any slave around here. If he’d ever wished for a different future than inheriting the Head Lord title – hadn’t he once hoped to go to university and train to become a teacher – he now knew how silly those wishes had really been. Whether he liked it or not, this was his future, and his main purpose was to sire the next Head Lord. 

His father couldn’t understand his resentment, Nickel thought. He’d been raised for the same purpose, and he’d complied, shouldered the burden and made sacrifices. Why shouldn’t his only son do the same? 

Nickel sighed deeply. Oh, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if he had ever meant to rebel anyway. Hadn’t he really accepted all this a long time ago? Nickel had to admit he had never seriously challenged his determined future; he’d only tried to postpone it. 

He’d imagined it lay much further ahead, in a constantly distant and vague future. Somehow, he’d thought he’d be in his early forties starting a family, or maybe mid thirties at the very earliest. He’d always thought he had plenty of time. It did scare him how much of this time was now ripped away from him, but it would happen anyway. All he would lose by giving Taven lifelong safety was some of this time. 

“I find these conditions acceptable,” he said. He hesitated only for a moment. “Thank you, father.”

His father smiled, looking very relieved indeed. He got up from the chair, rounded the desk and leaned over Nickel to caress his cheek and kiss him on top of his head like he used to do when he was little. “You do know how much I love you, son, don’t you?” he said.

Nickel nodded under the weight of his father’s hand. “I love you too, father.”


	53. Playthings

Nickel had to give it to his father, he never broke a promise, and once he’d made a decision, things happened quickly. It was only the day after their agreement, and he already held the signed and witnessed contract in his hand. 

The contract was between himself and the clan only, represented by his father, as being the current Head Lord. They had of course not asked Taven his opinion, and his presence hadn’t been required. Nickel hadn’t argued. There was no question the privileges afforded the slave would be good for him. What use would there be in asking him? 

What the contract would mean for _him_… Well, it remained to be seen.

He put away the part of the contract that concerned his future marriage. Taven didn’t need to know about it. Nickel was considerably more eager to show Taven the part that did concern him, but it would have to wait. 

His father had maybe worn out more from their conflict than Nickel had understood. Earlier in the morning, after signing the contract, he’d declared he was going to return to the summerhouse already the same evening. Nickel had felt bad, and asked his father if he was still displeased with him since he wanted to leave so soon. His father had only smiled and said it was customary for a parent to leave an adult son to his privacy on his ‘honeymoon’. 

Nickel had turned red at this verbal jab, so clearly referring to his childish outbursts the day before, and hadn’t tried further to talk his father into staying. They might not be angry with each other anymore, but there were obviously issues to work through still. Perhaps it was best if they did so with a bit of distance between them. 

He would still spend the time until departure with his father, and wouldn’t have a chance to fill Taven in on his new status anyway. Besides, as on cue, Serenity had called and asked him to let Taven visit. Considering the circumstances, Nickel had agreed. 

Well, soon then, Nickel thought, smiling as he looked over the papers once more. He would show Taven tomorrow instead, when he could take the time to explain it all properly, and he would ask Roth over, too. Nickel was sure his friend would be interested to hear this, as well. It really was a rather quaint and interesting piece of clan history, after all. 

Tomorrow.

\-----o0o-----

Being told Serenity would come fetch him to the cottage, Taven had first been happy for a chance to get out of the house, but then he’d turned apprehensive and worried instead.

It occurred to Taven the last two times they’d seen each other they hadn’t exactly been on friendly terms. First, Serenity had been angry Taven had stolen from him and had stormed off, ignoring his apology, and the second time, in the mall; Taven had nearly punched him, and called him a ‘fucking asshole’. It could be Serenity was still pissed off, and might even want to get back at him in some way.

If that was the case then Serenity was exceptionally good at hiding his true intentions. Before Taven knew it, he was back in Serenity’s old-fashioned living room with an ice-cold soda in his hand – Serenity remembered he liked the fruity ones – and the blond slave seemingly being in as friendly a mood as ever. Serenity was all smiles, chatting on, and didn’t mention their previous conflicts with a word. 

Taven didn’t want to remind Serenity, if the tall slave really had forgotten about their last encounter, but he still couldn’t refrain from asking Serenity about that day. “You know,” he said, finally managing to get a word in. “When we met you in that store a while back, did you really take the car all the way into the city?”

Serenity leaned back in his chair with a smug smile. “Sure did,” he said, obviously very proud of this. 

“But, you ain’t got a driver’s license?”

Serenity’s grin widened. “Nope!”

“But,” Taven repeated, incredulous. “How?”

“Well, you get in the car, turn the ignition key, and…”

“You fucking know that’s not what I mean,” Taven sneered. “How’d you get that idea? How…” ‘How are you so damn brave and knowledgeable’, what was he really wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t give Serenity the satisfaction of thinking he would be so impressed. “How did you learn all that?”

“Well,” Serenity said. “When I turned eighteen, I asked Constantine to let me have my own money, to give me a slave pass, and to let me take a driver’s license. I mean, I saw how some of the house slaves had those things, going grocery shopping for the household and whatnot. Why couldn’t I? I was the privileged one, after all. However, Constantine just flat out refused. Told me I’m way too ‘pretty and delicate’ to be on my own out there.” Serenity rolled his eyes. “Pretty, okay, but delicate? Come _on_!” He rolled his eyes once more for good measure.

“What’s a slave pass?” Taven asked.

Serenity stared. “You don’t know…? It’s just… Well, they give you papers where it says in which areas your master allows you to go. It's so you can go places without your master going with you, doing errands and stuff. Anyone questions you being there, you can just show them the papers. You go outside that area; you’re screwed, know what I mean?”

Taven nodded. Of course, he knew many slaves did errands for their owners; he’d lied to that police officer about doing just that. It was only he never knew they needed papers to do it. It did make sense. Well, in reality, no master had ever trusted him to do errands, so was it a wonder he’d never heard of it.

“I guess they usually don’t give them to slaves like us,” Serenity continued. “We’re not really expected to ever leave our masters’ sides. So, Constantine never gave me a slave pass, but after I’d nagged him about it long enough, he did let me have some money, and he did have his chauffeur teach me how to drive. He didn't mean for any of it to be ‘real’, though. The trusties shop for me, and I can shop some by mail order, too, if I show him, so he can sign for it, and I can play with that car, but I’m not to leave the lands.”

“But you did?” Taven said.

Serenity smiled widely again and nodded. “On those days I knew Constantine would be away, I started to drive longer and longer distances. You soon get bored with those dirt roads in the woods, you know, nothing to see but trees and the occasional tenant farm. Master Nickel and Mr. Roth, they showed me stuff... I had never planned to leave the car; I just wanted to see something else, like when I was with them. Then, one day, I suddenly found myself in the suburbs, and a fucking police car flagged me down.”

Taven was on the edge of his seat, his eyes widening. “Oh, shit!” he said.

“Oh, shit, indeed,” Serenity grinned. “I mean, Constantine’s chauffeur taught me how to drive, but it wasn’t like he ever taught me much of traffic rules or anything. I did something wrong, I never even understood exactly what, and this police officer saw me. Well, he just gave me a verbal warning and sent me on my way.”

“What the fuck,” Taven said. He almost felt Serenity had robbed him of a big drama. “Didn’t he even ask what a slave was doing in a car like that, no license or pass, or anything?” Serenity must be lying. The police officer who had caught him in the phone booth had turned out to be nicer than he could have ever hoped for, but he had still cuffed him, thrown him into the police car, and questioned him about things. 

Serenity smiled as smugly as ever. “That’s just the thing,” he said. “He didn’t get it I was a slave at all.”

“Oh,” Taven said, remembering how he, too, had made this mistake the first time he’d seen Serenity.

“Yes,” Serenity said. “He didn’t see a slave tag, or a coarse worker, hunching over in the seat of a truck, staring at his feet. He just saw some handsome guy in expensive clothing, driving a luxurious car. The man didn’t ask to see a driver’s license or anything, just waved me off with a smile. He even called me ‘Sir’.” Serenity laughed heartily.

“Damn,” Taven said. “Weren’t you nervous?”

“Are you kidding me?” Serenity said. “When that police officer walked up to the car, I was so fucking scared, I nearly shitted myself right there. You know, I don’t even know where it came from, but somehow I got the wits about me to act all haughty and snooty and speak with a clan accent, and he just bought it.” Serenity smiled cynically. “I guess it pays off having been around clan people most of my life, but yeah, I was nervous all right. Afterward, I had to stop the car at the side of the road and, honest to God, cry, before I managed to drive back home. I was that shook up.”

“Yeah?” Taven said. “You sure as hell weren’t scared enough not to do it again.”

Serenity laughed. “I just learned to be better at it. You know, we can read, so why not use it? I found some books in the mansion’s library and made sure to learn the traffic rules, studied maps over the inner city, learned not to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and… Simply acted free, I suppose. Works like a charm. I shop some of my own stuff now. Only now and then, though, so Constantine won’t get suspicious. He doesn’t keep track of my wardrobe anyway. I wear something new he doesn’t recognize, I tell him he must have forgotten he bought it for me, or I tell him I sewed it myself. He hardly listens to what I say anyway.” 

Taven leaned back in his seat again, sipping his soda. “Master’s found you out now,” he reminded Serenity.

Serenity winced. “Yeah, I guess so. It was my own fault. I was totally excited to see you all so unexpectedly, and didn’t think of the consequences before I had already jumped behind you to surprise you, and… Sorry about that, by the way. Again.” He gave him an apologetic look.

Taven ignored it. “What if he tells Master Constantine?”

Serenity shrugged. “Well, if he does, I’m fucking dead, aren’t I?” He grinned a little nervously. “I don’t think Nickel plans to tell him, or he would already have done that by now. Can’t do anything about it anyway, might as well have fun while I can.”

Taven eyed Serenity. He was obviously as chatty as when Taven had last visited here, and didn’t seem to care about their former conflicts anymore. It was likewise obvious Serenity knew a lot of stuff _he_ didn’t, so maybe he could ask the tall slave’s advice on things. Taven was far from comfortable with talking about personal matters with Serenity, but he had no one else to ask. 

“Um,” Taven said, hesitating to change the subject. “So, can I ask you something else?”

Serenity smiled. “Sure,” he said.

“So, you’re like... I mean, you must be older than me, right?”

“Most likely,” Serenity agreed. “Don’t rub it in, Mister Fresh Face!”

Taven ignored that, too. “Right! So, don’t you ever get…? You know; a beard?”

“A beard? Of course, I get a beard. I’m not a eunuch.”

“You… What?”

“No, a eunu… Never mind. Why do you ask?”

“’Cause, you can’t tell; ‘cause you’re always totally smooth. How do you do that?”

Serenity stared. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of shaving.”

Taven scowled at him. “You think I’m a fucking idiot? Of course I have, I just… I’ve never, like, done it to myself.”

“Oh,” Serenity said, grinning as widely as ever. “Late bloomer, eh?” 

Serenity leaned over to inspect his face, and Taven shifted uneasily in the chair under the scrutiny, glaring at the other slave, daring him to laugh. Serenity didn’t. 

“Okay, so, you have a bit of fluff going on. Just ask Nickel to buy you some razors and show you. What’s it to it?”

“I can’t do that!” Taven protested. “I don’t want him to see it.”

Serenity rolled his eyes. “You think he’s blind? He would have seen that a long time ago. Obviously he doesn’t care.”

“I just want it fucking gone,” Taven said. “Are you gonna show me, or not?”

“All right, sheesh, come with me then.”

Taven followed Serenity to his bathroom, embarrassed and uneasy. He felt awkward, to say the least, but it was still a hundred times better than having the same talk with his master.

Serenity inspected him again, cupping his chin and turning his face to the sharp light. “Aw, gosh, if this isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he cooed. “This peach fuzz of yours is as red as your hair. Hm, are you red down there, too?” 

Taven pulled away from the gentle grip. “Oh, fuck you!” he growled. 

Serenity only laughed. He turned to rummage through a very messy mirrored bathroom cabinet above the sink. “Here!” he said, holding out a flat box. “I do usually shave, but sometimes I use these wax strips. They’re for women, but I think they’d work perfectly on you since you haven’t that much. These are great, in fact. You don’t get any stubble at all, and don’t have to shave as often.”

Taven took the box and opened it, pulling out a double-layered plastic strip. He turned it over a few times, none the wiser. “What do you do with them?” he asked. 

“It’s really very simple,” Serenity said. He pulled the strip out of Taven’s hand. “You only rub them between your palms, like this, to warm up the wax, and then you pull them apart and…” Serenity carefully applied a strip to Taven’s upper lip, gently rubbing at it. 

Taven eyed him with suspicion, his upper lip twitching at the weird feeling.

“And then,” Serenity said, his eyes glimmering. “And then you… _Pull_!” He tore the strip off in one sudden and jerky move.

“Ow!” Taven yelled, his hands coming up to slap over his mouth. “What the fuck! You bastard! That fucking hurt!”

Serenity laughed loudly and heartily. “It does hurt a bit, but, no pain, no gain, you know. You’ll get used to it.” He brought forth the other, unused strip, reaching for him.

Taven glared, backed away and shook his head.

Serenity sighed. “Don’t be such a baby.” He held out the used strip to show him. “See how much hair that caught?”

Taven still scowled but finally came back to the sink. “Okay,” he said. “Do the rest, too.” He sure didn’t want to be a ‘baby’.

Serenity instructed him once more, on how to use them, letting him rip off the strips on his own this time, and showed him how to clean off the residual wax. Soon, Taven was as smooth as the before mentioned baby. He studied the resulting redness critically in the mirror, feeling at his cheeks. 

Behind him, Serenity leaned over Taven and studied his face through the mirror, as well. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting Taven’s shoulder. “The redness will go down.” His fingers travelled from Taven’s shoulder to his neck, and wrapped around the base of his braid. “You know,” he said. “If you’d like some more beauty advice… Why do you always keep your hair in this boring braid?”

“Yeah,” Taven said. “You’ve never had long hair, have you? You can’t do a thing with this loose. It’ll get caught in fucking everything, even your own damn legs.” 

“I suppose it’s not the most practical.” Serenity agreed. “Almost makes me happy I’m not an exotic. Who knows what uncomfortable and annoying things they’d force on you to earn that categorization, painful even. I heard of one with tattoos all over their entire body. Imagine that! I could never grow my hair this long in any case. At a certain length, like just below my shoulders, it starts to frazzle. Well, my hairs are simply too fine, is what I’m saying and this…” He gave Taven’s braid a gentle tug. “This demands a real horse mane, doesn’t it?” 

Serenity didn’t wait for an answer, frowning now. “One would think unusually good looks _would_ qualify, though, and I _am_ a natural blond, too. Everywhere!” he added, grinning again. “People as fair as me aren’t _that_ common, after all. Don’t you think I could have been an exotic, too?”

Taven rolled his eyes at Serenity through the mirror, a sneer his only reply. No, he _didn’t_ think that. _He_ was an exotic and Serenity wasn’t. Taven wanted at least to hold on to _one_ area in which he was something more than Serenity.

“Anyway,” Serenity went on. “I’ve never seen it out of the braid; can’t you take it out?” 

“You have too seen it out of the braid. I had it loose at The Club, both fucking times.” 

“You had? Oh, maybe you had. Well, obviously I wasn’t paying attention. Can’t you do it again, so that I can _really_ see it? Please? Just for me? Pretty please?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Taven said. “I’ll do it if you just _shut up_.”

Serenity smiled widely at his victory and stepped back to give Taven space.

Taven pulled the braid over his shoulder, removed the elastic tie and started to comb it out with his fingers, finally shaking it all back to hang loosely.

Serenity was dead silent behind him, but then… “Wow!” he said

Taven couldn’t help the flicker of pride within. Serenity’s spontaneous gasp of admiration seemed honest. Coming from someone like him, it had to mean something. Right?

Serenity slid up behind him again and put a hand at his neck, caressing his hair, running his fingers through it. “Mm, this is really nice,” he purred in his ear.

Taven had had quite enough of all this pawing and touching. He turned around and shoved Serenity away. “Back off!” he growled. 

“Sheesh,” Serenity said. “You should learn to take a damn compliment. I wasn’t coming on to you or anything.”

Taven wasn’t sure he believed that and it probably showed on his face.

“Believe me,” Serenity said, his voice carrying an undertone of bitterness. “Your master would fucking _kill_ me if I ever as much as tried touching you in that way. So, don’t worry, I’d rather live, thank you very much.”

Taven’s eyes widened. “He… He said he’d kill you?”

“Well, not literally,” Serenity clarified. “But he sure as hell made it clear enough I would be in a shitload of trouble. There would definitely be no more visits.”

Taven turned back to the mirror. Nickel would really be that harsh about anyone else touching him?

Serenity stepped up to him once again, carefully putting his long fingers back in his hair. “So, if you wanted to, like, get rid of me, I guess you could just tell Nickel I kissed you, or something.” 

“Why the fuck would I wanna do that?” Taven said.

Serenity’s smile, reflected in the mirror, was actually less smug or teasing this time, and more... relieved?

“Well,” Serenity said. “With hair like this, you should do something fun with it. Have you seen how those fine clan ladies put up their hair? I’ll bet you my diamond earrings most of those impressive do’s are fake. You would beat them all, no competition, no extensions needed.”

Serenity stepped back again, but this time only to rub his chin and give Taven an appraising look. “We should try it,” he said.

“Try what?” Taven asked.

“Putting your hair up! I have about a million hairpins up in my bedroom that I’ve never used. I’m sure I could do something similar. I mean, how hard could it be?”

“What the fuck,” Taven said. “Are you nuts? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fucking lady.”

“True,” Serenity conceded. “You’re no lady, but you _are_ fine, and I’m gonna make you even finer.”

Taven turned around, staring at Serenity, who surprisingly did _not_ give him one of his mocking smiles. Was he actually serious? “No way am I gonna let _you_ play with my hair,” he growled. “No fucking way!”

Serenity sighed and shook his head. “You are _such_ a bore. Come on, don’t be a spoilsport! You’ll look great, and if you don’t like it, we can just take it down again. Come on,” he cajoled. “Your master will like it. I promise, he will. I know him remember. I know what he likes, and it isn’t men like Mr. Roth, is it? Believe me, in case _you_ haven’t noticed, Nickel absolutely loves pretty hair.”

Taven startled. It was true; his master did have a thing for hair. Maybe the man _would_ like it. The thought of pleasing Nickel with his looks was tempting. Silas was still in the house, after all. No matter what his master had said about not replacing him, the boy _was_ still there. Yes, Taven had believed his master when he said he thought Silas was too young, but he wouldn’t stay a kid forever, would he? No matter what, Taven felt the competition. “Okay,” he said. “Do it! But if you make me look like an idiot, I’ll kick you in the fucking balls,” he warned.

Serenity seemed completely unfazed by this threat to his nether region, and ran upstairs to, Taven supposed, look through that enormous mess of old lady-stuff for the mentioned hairpins. 

He got right to it as soon as he returned, but it wasn’t as easy as the blond slave had claimed. It took Serenity numerous tries, as well as a lot of brushing, pulling and twisting, while Taven kept complaining at the harsh tugging and the both of them was swearing and cursing like drunken sailors, bent pins falling all over the floor around their feet. 

However, at least an hour later… “Done!” Serenity proudly declared, turning Taven to the mirror. 

Taven stared, his mouth open. 

“Damn,” Serenity said. “Who knew I was this good. You look fucking amazing.”

Taven was speechless. Serenity had put up his hair in an impressive crown high on his head. Numerous pearl pinheads glimmered through the twisted red strands, and a few softly curled ringlets fell around his face. He had no idea what to make of the sight. Should a boy really look like this? Was this the perfect ‘man-woman mix’ for his master’s tastes? More likely, it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever done, but he really couldn’t tell.

“Seriously,” Serenity continued, gently twirling one of the locks hanging over Taven’s ear around his fingers. “Have you any idea how cute you are? Just look at this long milky-white neck of yours. This hairstyle shows it off perfectly.” Before Taven knew it, Serenity’s hands snaked around his throat to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. “You shouldn’t keep your shirts buttoned up all the way to the chin like this,” he said. “It’s not in the least sexy, you know. Fold it down a bit, show some collar bone…”

Taven froze, his breath caught in his throat. He tore himself out of Serenity’s grip and spun around, backing into a corner, his hands coming up to grab at the collar of his shirt, holding it tight. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed. “Don’t fucking _touch_ me! You ever do that again, I’ll fucking kill you!”

Serenity stared in shock, and Taven turned and fled the bathroom. 

He really had nowhere to go. Taven halted in the living room and slumped down into one of the large upholstered chairs, still holding onto his shirt collar with a desperate grip, trying to still his wildly beating heart. It wasn’t long before he heard hesitating and cautious steps behind him. 

“Taven?” Serenity said. “Are you… Are you okay? Can I come in here?”

“I guess,” Taven said, sinking deeper into the chair, too embarrassed to face Serenity.

Serenity walked around his chair and sat down across from him. He perched straight-backed on the edge of his own chair, hands folded in his lap, looking down. “I…” he started. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to do whatever it was I did, and…”

Taven didn’t look up. “It’s nothing,” he murmured. “Forget it. I just don’t like people pulling at my clothes and shit.” He felt his face heat up in pure shame only thinking about Serenity having succeeded in opening his shirt and spotting even one of his ugly scars. Fucking perfect Serenity was the last person in the world he wanted to see just how disgusting his body really was. The thought alone made him nauseated. 

Serenity, strange enough, looked both consternated and guilty. “I wasn’t going to… I’d never… If they… I mean, I know what it’s like when they… I’m sorry, really. I’ll never pull at your clothes again. I swear.”

“Okay,” Taven quickly pressed out. Somehow, Serenity’s excuses made him even more embarrassed.

Serenity gave him a weak and tentative smile. “We’re still good, right?” he asked, leaning over, trying to catch his eyes. “You’re fine again, right? Yeah? So, please don’t tell Nickel, will you? He gets so angry these days. It’s scary how angry he gets and… _Please_, don’t tell him.”

Taven finally looked up, slowly letting go of the almost strangling grip of his shirt collar. “I told you,” he said. “It’s nothing. We’re good, and all that. I won’t tell him. Just fucking forget it, okay?”

Serenity exhaled, looking relieved. “Okay,” he said. “Come back to the bathroom, and I’ll help you take your hair down. I promised your master not to keep you too late.”

Taven looked away and sucked at his lower lip. “Nah,” he muttered, feeling his ears turning hot. “Leave it.”

Serenity grinned widely. “As you wish,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Taven takes his hair out of the braid to show Serenity... if you want a visual representation of what that could look like, I have just the thing. :-) Check out this [YouTube clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuolXNQZlF8) (it's less than a minute long). The guy in this clip is obviously much older than Taven, and his hair isn't red, but other than that, I'd say this is exactly what it would look like watching Taven loosen his hair from the braid.
> 
> /Fran


	54. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so slow in replying to comments the last weeks. Been busy and still trying to catch up on things, both online and in real life, after having been out of town for while, but, never doubt, I'll get to you, sooner or later :-) Let me also take the opportunity to once again thank you all for all the nice attention this fic has received so far, and I hope you'll all be along for the rest of the ride, as well.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> I would also like to remind there is a discord, if you want to pop in and chat, about my writing, or just... anything :-) 18+ only, please. It's here: https://discord.gg/sbjpdDU. 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Well... I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter! :-) 
> 
> /Fran

Having seen his father off some hour or so ago, Nickel retired to the TV den, nestling into the couch with a book, but he couldn’t concentrate on his reading. Taven hadn’t returned from visiting. Weren’t he unusually long? Nickel resisted an urge to call Serenity and demand he bring Taven back at once. It was only six in the evening, and if they were having a nice time, he didn’t really want to begrudge Taven of the amusement. The boy had had a rather tough time lately, after all. 

He forced himself to concentrate on the book instead, but was only too happy to close it and throw it on the coffee table before him as soon as he heard steps outside the door and saw the handle turn. 

Before leaving with Serenity, Taven had been told to come upstairs as soon as he came back home. It was immediately obvious he’d not obeyed this order, but had stopped by his own room first, as he was wearing a completely different outfit.

Nickel stared, his jaw dropping, as Taven insecurely padded across the floor on bare feet to stand before him. He’d put on a pair of black pants which hugged his slim legs close and the likewise tightly fitted black satin shirt he wore was slightly open in front to show off his collar bones, and… 

His hair…

If possible, Nickel’s eyes widened even more. “Uh,” he managed, speechless.

Taven at once crumbled before his astonished silence. “I knew it,” he yelled. “I fucking _knew_ it!” He turned on his heels and went for the door.

Nickel sprang to his feet and grabbed Taven by the arm, turning him back around. 

Taven hid his face behind his free arm and tried to squirm out of the hold. “I knew he was gonna make me look like a fucking idiot,” he yelled. “I’m gonna kill that _asshole_.”

Oh, this was Serenity’s handiwork. Nickel wasn’t in the least surprised. 

He pulled Taven closer, and forced him to take his arm down from his face. “You most certainly do _not_ look like an idiot,” he said, moved by Taven’s obvious attempt to please him, even if it was somewhat of a misfiring. 

Taven really didn’t need to try to be more feminine in such a way to please him. It was true, Nickel wasn’t drawn to the hyper-masculine and wasn’t at all averse to certain androgyny, it was still the differences between the sexes which appealed to him. The contrast between the softness of a woman’s face and the more angular face of a man, the roundness of a woman’s breasts, contrasting with the flat planes of a man’s chest, the sensuous curves of a woman’s hips below her narrow waist, the narrow hips of a man compared to the width of his shoulders… Nickel just couldn’t disregard interest in one in favor of the other. Yes, he enjoyed Taven’s slender longhaired appearance, but a man who was _too_ feminine was not what he wanted. Nickel had never really liked Serenity’s occasional urge to cross dress, as he really was a little bit too convincing when he did, though he’d had no problem humoring him. His natural androgyny looked the most enticing in a suit, really, as inappropriate as it was for the slave to wear them. 

No, Taven didn’t need to do things like this, but looking at him now, seeing how the soft curls framed his freckled and flushed face, knowing he’d made an effort dressing up to match the elaborate hairdo, even unbuttoning his shirt to an extent a few of his scars showed below his clavicles. How could Nickel think anything else than that the boy was adorable, as well as utterly gorgeous? 

“I do too look like a fucking idiot,” Taven protested bitterly. “And he knew I would.”

“Believe me,” Nickel said. “As mischievous as Serenity can be, I honestly don’t think he was trying to make a joke at your expense. However inappropriate this is, Serenity does have good taste and there’s no denying how beautiful you are right now, boy.”

Taven stopped struggling. “You… You really think so?”

Nickel smiled and caressed his cheek. “Oh yes,” he said. “Believe me, you are.”

Taven still looked worried. “But it ain’t app- app…?”

“Appropriate,” Nickel filled in. “No, Taven, it’s not! Few clan ladies would approve, I’m afraid.” 

“They’d be angry?”

“Maybe a little jealous,” Nickel said, smiling. “It doesn’t matter, we’re in private, and it’s Serenity who should know better in any case.” He pulled the boy closer. “It’s certainly not your fault how pretty you are.” Nickel put a finger under Taven’s chin, coaxing him to look up so he could lean down and kiss him. Taven answered to the kiss without hesitation. 

In fact, Taven melted into his arms during the kiss to such an extent the boy couldn’t help noticing his current ‘condition’. Nickel shifted a bit, trying not to rub his erection against Taven. He hadn’t really meant to turn this into actual sex, but it seemed his body was of a different opinion.

Taven broke the kiss, but didn’t try to pull away from him. On the contrary, the slave looked up at him with a small smile, and pressed closer. “You wanna go to bed already, Master?” he asked.

Nickel raised his eyebrows at the sultry innuendo. The words seemed somewhat unlike Taven, less crude and more confident at the same time, and he wondered if they were learnt or acted, somehow. 

He couldn’t forget his father’s words. ‘_Have you even once stopped to think what_ he _feels about_ you?’ he’d said. Oh, he _had_. Nickel had stopped to think of it on numerous occasions. He wasn’t stupid, and his father really hadn’t told him anything he wasn’t already aware of. Somehow, in spite of this, Nickel might have started to think asking himself this question simply didn’t apply anymore. It had once, but surely not any longer. His father didn’t know what Taven and he had been through together, didn’t know the talks they’d had, the misunderstandings they’d worked through, the conflicts followed by a rebuilding of trust. 

‘_Oh, I’m sure he’s been very convincing in declaring his devotion. That’s what they do, Nickel. What else_ can _they do?_’ 

No, Nickel couldn’t believe Taven’s seductive playfulness was an act, even if it did seem somewhat unexpected, and surely, there had been both willingness and mutual attraction in the kiss they had just shared. 

Still, a voice at the back of Nickel’s mind wanted to point out to him, it might not matter if the slave is being completely honest with his master, when the slave could still be lying to _himself_.

He shushed this voice. His cock was almost painfully hard and Taven’s lithe frame kept pressing against him. The boy’s eyes stared up at him, waiting for an answer, a glimmer of the usual insecurity and fear in the dark gray, a shaky smile still on his lips. 

Nickel smiled back. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s have an early night.”

\-----o0o-----

The hospital was open for visiting between seven and nine o’ clock in the evening, and Roth walked into the waiting room at ten to seven. He looked around. Was this the right floor? He thought it must be. Roth took a seat, nodding absentmindedly to two other guests already in the room. He’d wait until he could catch a nurse and have him or her find out if the slave trader would be willing to see him.

A part of him wanted to leave again, this was probably a stupid idea, but he didn’t. It was his fault, after all.

He remembered how Swift had told him he’d used some ‘hands on persuasion’ at the slave market, to get the information he was looking for, but at the time Roth had been so caught up in getting through the whole meeting alive, it hadn’t really registered with him what this actually meant. Not until a few days later did it occur to him to go back to the slave market to check things out. He’d been told by the guards their employer had been hospitalized. Roth had winced. 

Not that he was overly fond of the slave trader. In fact, he rather despised the man, but he still didn’t deserve a fucking brute like Swift mauling him like that, and the trader wouldn’t have ended up in hospital if Roth hadn’t butted in. No matter his personal feelings, Roth had never meant for the guy to get hurt. 

There was a coffee vending machine in a corner of the waiting room. Another guest came inside, walked up to it, put a few coins in the slot, and… no, not a guest. Roth turned in the chair to get a better look and at once recognized the simple clothes from the slave market, the bare feet, the shock of yellow hair and the locked collar. That was the trader’s personal slave. 

Roth got up from the chair. “Hey, boy!”

The slave turned around, and it was quite clear he recognized Roth, as well. His eyes widened before he quickly ducked his head and started for the door, doing a very poor impression of someone who hadn’t heard he’d been spoken to.

Roth took advantage of the fact the slave couldn’t walk very fast with a lidless cup filled to the brim with hot coffee, and cut in front the boy, forcing him to a halt. “You’re the trader’s boy, aren’t you?” he asked. “How’s your master?”

The boy looked up at him with a surprising amount of anger in his eyes. “Master is being treated for a fractured jaw, Sir,” he informed him. “He’ll have to take his coffee with a straw now.” The slave ducked his head again, his shoulders trembling. “H- how… How do you think he is?” The resentment was clear in his voice even as he flinched and stammered the words out, expecting a smack upside his head for his rudeness, no doubt.

Those words hit home. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Roth said. “I didn’t think Swift would… I came to apologize.”

“Please, Sir,” the slave begged, still hunched over the cup, trembling. “I- I know you don’t like him, Sir, but- but Master is a _good_ man. He’s good to me, and… Please don’t visit him, Sir. _Please_ don’t put him in danger again.” 

Roth stared down on the bowed head. “You care about him,” he said. 

“Oh yes, Sir,” came the answer, as unhesitant as it was heartfelt.

Roth frowned. He wouldn’t say he was shocked, but the slave’s loyalty did surprise him. He shook his head. It was sad, wasn’t it, how misplaced the boy’s affections were. How old was this slave? Barely into his twenties Roth thought. How long had the trader kept him for himself? Probably since childhood. Roth wanted to tell the poor pathetic thing he had no idea what he was talking about, that he was only brainwashed into believing he loved his master because he had nothing to compare with, and nowhere else to turn, and... 

It hit Roth like a ton of bricks. That could just as well apply to certain others he knew, too, couldn’t it? Taven was as much a slave as this one, incapable of saying no, having no normal relations to compare with; living in a state of dependency so severe he might literally die if Nickel abandoned him. 

Still, the thought of Nickel ‘wooing’ Taven, for lack of a better word, had never bothered him before. Why? Was it because Nickel was young and good-looking, caring and kind? Was it because Nickel was his friend? Why did _this_ boy declaring his affections for his master bother him so much more? Was it because the trader was much older than his slave, and that Roth considered him unattractive, or because the man was trading in human lives? Was it really so much worse trading in slaves than to ‘only’ keep them?

For a fleeting moment, Roth was completely stuck in this moral quandary. Should he stop judging the slave trader, or start judging Nickel? Because what was the fucking difference?

He brushed it all aside, unable to deal with it. Taven wasn’t suffering being with Nickel, of course he wasn’t. Maybe this boy wasn’t either, what the hell did he know? Dismissing this poor slave’s concerns for his master only because the trader happened to be an ‘ugly coward’ in his mind was just shallow and prejudiced. Right? Besides, these slaves could have been so much worse off. Oh, man, did he know just how worse off these boys could have been. 

Who was he to judge _anyone_? 

“Okay,” Roth said. “If he doesn’t want to see me… I sure don’t want to make things worse, or upset him. Will he be all right?”

The slave nodded.

“Well, tell him you saw me and that I do apologize. Tell him, if I can help it, he won’t have anything to do with me ever again.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the boy said, bowing deeply. “Thank you! May I please be excused, Sir? Master’s coffee is getting cold.”

“Of course,” Roth said. He stepped aside and let the slave pass.

\-----o0o-----

Taven was scared.

He sat naked on the bedside, watching his master strip before him, and he didn’t feel good about this at all. 

It wasn't that he was afraid of his master. Nickel didn’t want to hurt him, he knew that now, and he believed it, too. He was nervous about being penetrated when he hadn’t been for so long, but the possible discomfort would pass, it wasn’t that either. No, he was scared because he thought he’d finally figured out what his master wanted, and he was far from sure he would be able to provide. 

His master wanted him to _like_ this, but not until now did he realize what this actually meant. It meant he couldn’t be passive and just take it. His passivity and complete submission had been enough for men who didn’t care what he thought and felt. His resistance and tears had been fine, too, for men who weren’t bothered by pain and fear. None of this would be all right with his master.

Nickel would still want submission, of course. He was a weird guy, yeah, but he was still a _master_. This, Taven could provide, but beyond submitting, he was lost. What did it mean to _like_ sex, and how did you show it to the other? Taven had no fucking idea. 

Yes, he liked when they kissed. Nickel, sort of, tasted good, and it made Taven feel safe and appreciated, but he didn’t know how to show he liked it. Of course, kissing was also such a small part of it all, and he was sure he didn’t like _any_ of the other stuff. Wouldn’t his master know if he lied about these things? Okay, in the bathtub, he had come, and coming felt good, of course it did. Nickel would undoubtedly see coming as evidence of having liked it. However, it had also been weird and confusing; because it wasn’t something he’d ever done before when a free man had touched him. It wouldn’t be good if he couldn’t do it again.

He tried to find comfort in the fact his master had promised he wouldn’t punish him if he couldn’t do this right. Nickel had been very clear on that point; failure in bed would not lead to punishment. However, punishment wasn’t the only thing he feared. His master had chosen him over Silas, and he didn’t want Nickel to regret this decision. 

Taven wasn’t scared he’d make his master angry; he was scared he’d make him disappointed.

Having shed all his clothes, too, his master came up to him, but he didn’t push Taven to his back, or climbed onto the bed. He crouched down before him, and took Taven’s hands in his own. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Taven hesitated. He realized he couldn’t lie himself through this, he had to say something, but he had no idea what. “Master, may I speak freely?” he asked, trying to use the correct phrase. 

“Of course,” Nickel said, squeezing his hands in comfort. 

“I… I- I kinda don’t know how to do this,” he said, looking down. He winced at how stupid it sounded, coming out of the mouth of a whore who had, in fact, done ‘this’ about a million times. 

His master might have understood what he really meant. “Oh,” he said. “It doesn’t need to be ‘done’ in any particular way,” he explained. “Let’s just touch each other, be close, and try different things. We’ll take it slow, and if something feels good, we’ll do that. If something hurts, or doesn’t feel right, we’ll try something else.” He gave him an encouraging smile.

Taven swore inside his head. Why did his master always have to be so fucking vague when it came to sex? He needed orders here, damn it. He needed some fucking guidance, and that was all. He decided to tell Nickel just that. “Master, can’t you just tell me what to do instead?”

Nickel’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown, and Taven held his breath. Had he gone too far? Would his master declare once again it was ‘too soon’, that they weren’t ‘on the same page’, and, for the hundredth time, dismiss him? 

“All right,” Nickel unexpectedly agreed. “I suppose it would be easier for you. However, I will only do this if you promise to tell me when something doesn’t feel good, or if something hurts. Do you understand what I’m saying, Taven? It’s very important you don’t try to hide such things from me. Do you understand I need to change my orders if they don’t work, and I can’t know what works if you’re not being honest with me.”

Taven nodded. It made sense, and he would do his best to obey. 

“That’s a good boy,” Nickel said, reaching up to caress his cheek.

His master rose and sat down beside him, leaning in, taking advantage of his bared neck to nuzzle at it. The man’s lips were soft against his skin, and his nose rubbed lightly against Taven’s ear. It tickled a little, but wasn’t unpleasant. He didn’t resist when Nickel’s hand cupped his chin and decisively turned his head so he could move those lips to Taven’s mouth instead. It was a clear wordless order to kiss, and Taven at once felt calmer being directed in this way.

So far, the orders sure didn’t need to be changed. 

Ending the kissing, Nickel scooted back on the bed, lying down on his back, pulling Taven with him. “Sit up, Taven,” he ordered, gently pulling at his arms to get him where he wanted him. “Straddle me. Yes, like this… Don’t worry, just settle down, you’re not the least bit heavy, you know,” he added with a warm smile when Taven shifted uneasily at the strange position.

Their poses really were weird, Taven thought, feeling more than awkward. He was literally sitting on Nickel’s stomach, his knees burrowed into the mattress. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Nickel looked up at him and caressed his arms, holding them down at his sides. “Have you ever been on top before?” he asked.

Taven stared back down. He wasn’t sure he understood the question. Was his master asking if he’d ever fucked someone else? If he had, like, been the one to ‘stick it in’? Was the man serious? Of course he’d never ‘been on top’. Who the fuck would have ever let him do that? 

Nickel must have correctly interpreted his confused frown. 

“I mean,” he clarified. “Have you ever been penetrated in this position before?”

Oh, Taven understood now, but was still frowning. He couldn’t possibly remember all the ways they’d put him to fuck him. Half the times he’d been more or less hysterical, anyway, or in a lot of pain. He’d been dazed from lack of sleep, hunger, illness, or hard slaps. However, even without remembering for sure, he just knew this position had never been an option those men would have gone for, and it was awkwardly clear to him why that was. Sitting on his master, pressing the man down with his body weight, as slight as it was, being able to look down on him, all of it simply felt so… wrong. Taven couldn’t imagine any free man wanting a _slave_ in this position. 

Taven shook his head. “No, Master,” he said. 

Nickel smiled that ever-encouraging smile, and rubbed his arms. “Then I think we should try it,” he said. “I think it would be a good position for you. Be a good boy and fetch the lube and condoms for us,” he ordered. “You know where they are.”

Taven did. He got off his master and crawled across the wide bed to pull out the drawer in the nightstand. He was very nervous now and still thought the idea was really fucking weird, but he’d asked to be directed, and if his master wanted him to sit on him, he would. He hoped he wouldn’t hate it so much he had to ask Nickel to change the order. 

He resumed the position, straddling his master once again, handing him the bottle and the package of condoms, but Nickel shook his head. 

“You do it,” he said. 

Again, Taven didn’t understand, but his master stayed true to his promise to guide him through this, and had him turn around, straddling him the other way, instructing him step by step how to put a condom on another man’s cock in a correct way. It was easier this time, when his master was already hard. Then he ordered him to squirt a glob of lube into his palm and cover Nickel’s cock generously. Taven did, excited to hear how Nickel gasped behind him, obviously enjoying the hand on his cock. He was doing _something_ right, at least. 

“That’s good,” his master moaned. “Now, prepare yourself, as well.”

His master wanted him to use the lube on himself? Okay, sure, he could do that. Taven squirted another, larger, glob onto his fingers, remembering how his master wanted a slick ride. He leaned forward over his master’s legs and steadied himself with his free hand, trying to find the balance to reach back with his other hand. He couldn’t help straining to look back over his shoulder, giving Nickel a questioning look. Was he doing it right? Should he have turned back first? Maybe even have left for the bathroom to do this? Did his master really want to see this, tattoo and all? He hadn’t been happy seeing him in this position before, had he? 

“That’s right,” Nickel grinned. “Take your time, don’t rush it. Make sure you’ll feel ready. I’ll be thoroughly enjoying the view in the meantime.” 

Taven raised an eyebrow, apparently this time Nickel _would_ enjoy the position. Well, Taven wasn’t about to question a thing. If his master wanted a show, he sure could give him one, and he was grateful he was allowed to prepare himself by his own hands. He parted his legs wide, pushed his ass out and took his time slowly sliding his slick fingers in and out of his hole, trying to loosening it up, rolling his hips around them. 

“Goodness, Taven…” his master moaned behind him. “Damn,” he swore, his thighs clenching underneath Taven’s chest, and his cock twitching against his stomach. 

A chill went up Taven’s spine. He was convinced his master would stop this silly game any second now. Nickel would pull out from underneath him and simply push him down into the mattress with a harsh grip at his neck, and fuck him roughly from behind, the way free men wanted it.

Afraid he was teasing his master too much, Taven decided on the spot he was probably finished preparing himself, and carefully turned around again. He sat up as before, drying his fingers on his thighs, hoping he wasn’t doing a big mistake assuming the order he would ‘be on top’ was still in force. 

Nickel didn’t look displeased, rubbing his arms again, smiling up at him. “You are _so_ cute,” he said. “I enjoy you like this. I enjoy looking at your face while we do it, and how you can lean down to kiss me, but above all… Taven, I want to feel me inside of you; I do _so_ want to feel me inside you, but I don’t want to just, ‘take you’. No matter the position, or how careful I’d be, I think it would still scare you, make you tense. However, if we do it this way, you can control the pace on your own. Do you understand what I’m saying? I won’t push into you; _you_ push yourself onto me, in any way you like, at any pace that feels right for you, and only as much as you’re comfortable with. If it hurts, you have my permission to stop, at any time, understand?”

Oh, Taven understood the purpose of the strange position now, but how would this do anything for his master. “And- and you’ll _like_ this?” he asked.

His master gave up a small laugh. “Are you kidding me? I started to think I’d never… I will like it, Taven, believe me, I will.”

“If- if… If it ain’t good, I can blow you, too, Master,” Taven said, wanting to give some sort of guarantee his master wouldn’t go unsatisfied out of this.

“You could,” his master agreed, smiling. “It would also be very, very nice. See? There’s no way this can end badly, so just give it a try.”

“Okay, Master,” Taven said. He was still very insecure about the whole thing, but he thought he could do it. It wasn’t much different from sitting down on that dildo he’d borrowed from Serenity, was it? Of course, that _had_ hurt, but his master wasn’t nearly as big, so if he only relaxed and took it slow and easy, this didn’t have to be bad at all. It turned out to be a somewhat awkward affair to steer his master’s cock into his hole while straddling him, but he eventually got the hang of it and started to push himself down. 

Nickel moaned loudly and grabbed at Taven’s thighs, but he stayed true to his promise to let him control the pace and neither tried to pull him deeper down, nor thrusting. It must have demanded some willpower, but his master stayed still. 

Taven was almost too amazed at what he was doing to notice, surprised at how easy it was, and how he actually wasn’t hurting in the least. He didn’t know if he actually liked it, but it was incredible what a difference it made to have only a fraction of control over the whole thing. Testing how much he dared push, gliding up and down a few times, Taven finally managed to sit all the way down.

Nickel rewarded him with another loud moan. “Goodness, Taven…” his master repeated, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

Taven couldn’t help smiling in pride. Finally he was doing things right. “You can, like, fuck me now, Master,” he said.

Nickel only grinned at that, and pulled him down to kiss him with a hand at his neck. His master’s hips started to move underneath him, but still only very slowly and carefully. Taven did his best to respond to those movements with movements of his own, feeling still so very insecure about what his master would find enjoyable. Should he go slower or maybe faster? Should he try to relax more and make himself looser, or should he try to clench and make himself tighter, should he… Oh, he couldn’t think properly when his master was kissing him so much, and caressing him all over, seemingly having completely forgotten the raised scars he was touching, moaning into his mouth. 

Without Taven realizing, he’d started to fuck himself on Nickel’s cock, and the more his master moaned underneath him, the faster he moved, desperate to please. It was strenuous, having to do all the work, Taven wasn’t as fit as his master, his skinny thighs not rippling with the same kind of lean muscles. He had to break the kiss, sit up straight and draw his breath, while his thigh muscles ached and sweat poured down his face and chest. Taven grabbed at Nickel’s shoulders to steady himself, his arms shaking. He started to feel dizzy. 

“Am I… Am I doing good?” he gasped.

Nickel grabbed at his arms and threw his head back. “Yes,” he gasped back. “Oh yes! For _God’s_ sake, don’t stop!” 

Taven didn’t, but he really didn’t think he had the strength to go on much longer. He didn’t have to. His master might have been somewhat pent up. Taven didn’t know how long the man usually lasted, but even if he didn’t actually feel how his master spurted deep into him, it was still clear when he came. Nickel moaned the loudest so far, and pulled him down once again, kissing him as if he wanted to eat him up, bucking wildly underneath him, before suddenly going still. Nickel slumped back into the mattress and closed his eyes, his arms falling listlessly beside his head, breathing heavily. 

“Goodness…” he gasped once again. 

Taven collapsed onto Nickel’s chest, feeling his master’s cock shrinking within him. He was exhausted, but almost euphoric. He’d done it. He’d made it. Taven had pleased his master, been of real use, and proven his worth. He’d secured his place in this house, for the near future at least, and it hadn’t hurt even once. Taven could have never imagined it would be this easy, this free from pain and horrors, this…

Nickel’s hand caressed him over the back. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Taven nodded against his master’s chest. 

Nickel carefully pulled out from underneath him, and sat up, slowly pushing Taven to his back, lying down beside him. “We’re not done yet,” he said. 

What? Taven stared at his master. They weren’t? He hadn’t done well, after all? What had he missed? 

His master grinned at his worried expression and carefully put one of his hands between Taven’s legs. “Don’t you want this taken care of?” Nickel asked.

Taven looked down. What the fuck? He was hard. When had he gotten hard? He couldn’t even tell. He looked back at his master with a nervous grin. This was good, wasn’t it? Surely, it would show he’d liked it, the way his master wanted him to. 

Nickel smiled back. “Would you let me take care of that?” he asked. “I mean, like the last time, in the bathtub; remember? You think you could enjoy it better this time, if I’m being careful?” 

Taven only hesitated a short moment before nodding. It wasn’t that it had been horrible being given a hand job by his master that time, it had only been confusing and unexpected, and had brought up a whole slew of bad memories. This time it would be different, if only because his master had asked him this time, and he knew what was coming. 

His master gently brought him over the edge then, kissing him all the way, only freeing his mouth now and then to whisper in his ear how beautiful he was, and how good. There was nothing confusing about his orgasm this time, but the same kind of sadness, even grief, lingered at the edges of it. Taven closed his eyes and fought it down, this time managing to control the threatening memories. The last thing he wanted was to break down crying again, like some fucking idiot. He didn’t want to upset his master, not after this. 

He opened his eyes again when he felt his master’s fingers drawing circles in the come he’d just spilled all over his own chest and stomach. Taven looked down, and turned red when he saw the mess he’d made, Nickel’s hand covered in it. “I- I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll clean it up, Master.”

Nickel only laughed. “This?” he said, holding his hand up, rubbing his fingers together. “Oh, I kind of enjoyed that. Don’t worry about it, Taven. We’ll take a shower later. For now, I’d like to stay here with you for a while, and… Just stay here... With you.” 

Somehow, they never made it to the shower. Nickel nuzzled close to him, putting an arm over his chest, and a leg over his thighs, and, a short while later, fell asleep. 

He might have preferred to wipe off the come at least, but his master’s arms trapped him in a tight embrace. Well, there _were_ worse traps, he supposed. 

Taven tried to turn, to find a more comfortable position, without waking his master, but swore silently to himself when something sharp poked him in the shoulder. Groping under his back, he pulled up one of the pearl-headed pins Serenity had put in his hair. Taven dropped it over the edge of the bed, and felt at his head. The nice hairdo Serenity had worked so hard on was hardly in pristine condition anymore, not after his wild ride on his master’s cock. Taven grinned. 

He knew it would be fucking hell to try to disentangle his hair tomorrow and comb it all out to its normal state, but if it had helped him get to this much more secure place, he would admit to Serenity that it had, the next time he saw him, and thank him, too.


	55. Concubinage

Taven was already awake when Nickel woke up, and as so many times before, he caught the boy staring at him. When Taven realized his master had woken up, too, he quickly looked away. It made Nickel smile. He turned on his side and pulled Taven close. They’d fallen asleep last night without cleaning up and were both in dire need of a shower, but Nickel was reluctant to get out of bed this morning. 

He nuzzled up against Taven. “Thanks for a good time, last night,” he said.

Taven looked embarrassed. “Uh, but I was just… You really think it was good?”

“Oh yes,” Nickel said. “It was definitely good.”

Taven didn’t seem to know how to take his master’s praise, but he did look happy about it. 

He would need some encouragement to start the day with, Nickel thought. He feared today might be somewhat confusing for Taven, and the change in status would be a lot to take in. Maybe he should inform the boy of a smaller change first, while they were so relaxed together. 

“Taven,” Nickel said. “Regarding Silas, there’s something you should know.”

It didn’t escape Nickel how Taven froze at the mention of Silas, but it was all right, whatever the boy feared he would be instantly reassured. 

“In a few days, Silas will leave the house. I have…”

Taven bolted up in bed and forcefully pulled out of his arms. “What?” he gasped; eyes wide with shock. “You- you… You’ve _sold_ Silas?” Taven threw himself out of the bed, as if he couldn’t stand being close to his master hearing this. “You’re just throwing him out?” he yelled, standing naked by the bed, his hands fisting and the messy bird’s nest on his head bobbing. “How the fuck can you just- just…” 

“Well, well,” Nickel said, sitting up, only barely refraining from yelling in return. “As I seem to recall, the other day it was _you_ who wanted to get rid of him, wasn’t it?” He knew as soon as he uttered those words how childish it was to argue with his own slave, instead of simply explaining the misunderstanding, but he couldn’t help himself. Taven jumping to such conclusions hurt his feelings.

“No,” Taven yelled. “I didn’t mean that! I didn’t fucking mean it like _that_! He’s gonna get hurt and fucked, and beaten all over again, and- and… Why? Why’d you do that? How can you just throw him away like- like…?” 

There was no mistaking it just how upset Taven was with him, the boy was shaking, already spilling angry tears, carrying on, but Nickel would have no more of this atrocious behavior. 

“Silence!” he roared.

Taven retreated at his fury and the angry tirade ended almost comically abrupt. 

Nickel pointed at the bedside. “Sit _down_!” he ordered.

Taven obviously didn’t dare disobey at the sharpness in his voice, but in a final act of defiance, he sat down at the foot end of the bed instead and turned his back on him. 

Nickel sighed and shook his head. “How can you trust me so little?” he asked.

There was no answer, and Taven was very demonstrative about _not_ looking at him. 

“All right, clearly you don’t trust me at all, but you could at least do me the courtesy of hearing me out before you start yelling at me. I never said I had sold Silas. If you had only let me finish, I would have told you he will leave _with Roth_.”

Slowly Taven turned to look at him over his shoulder, suspicion in his eyes. “With… Mr. Roth?”

“Yes! Roth is moving from his apartment in the South End to a bigger and nicer place in the city. I’m letting Silas stay with him, to help him keep his new home. He won’t be far away, you can see him whenever it’s convenient, and you know Roth would never hurt him.”

Taven looked away again, hanging his head, squirming uneasily. “I… I thought… But- but… How the fu… How was I supposed to know that?” he finally said. 

“You weren’t,” Nickel said. “But you _were_ supposed to let me finish.”

Taven hung his head deeper. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll never interrupt again, Master,” he promised; shame evident in his voice.

“No, you won’t, and you will also never yell at your master, ever again. Do I make myself clear, slave?” 

“Y- yes, Master.”

As so many times before, Nickel’s anger crumbled at the small remorseful voice, the hint of fear behind the words, and the pathetic hunched pose. 

He recalled a similar situation, months ago. That time, too, Taven hadn’t let him finish, had jumped to the wrong conclusion, and had accused him of tricking him into failing, only to have an excuse to get rid of him. In moments like these, it all felt so hopeless. Taven hadn’t trusted him then, and he didn’t trust him now. After everything they had been through, there was still no progress. He would never really reach Taven, and no matter how good things seemed, at the smallest issue or misunderstanding they would be right back to square one. 

Nickel forcefully shook the pessimism. Surely, he was wrong, and there _had_ been progress. Just look at how Taven had defended Silas so furiously. Taven fresh out of the market wouldn’t have cared, Nickel thought. Surely, their time together last night had been a sign of progress, as well, and perhaps it wasn’t so strange if Taven still had trust issues. He couldn’t demand a slave so horribly mistreated for years would unquestioningly trust yet another master, however kind, in only a few months, could he? 

No. Nickel told himself he had to be more patient and understanding. Maybe trust was still something to work on, but it would come. Eventually, it would come, and after today, Taven would understand it better than before there were no risks in trusting his master.

Nickel, threw the covers aside and went to sit beside Taven, putting an arm around his hunched shoulders. “I’m not angry with you,” he said. “It was only a silly misunderstanding. Let’s go take a shower and sort this hair out, what do you say?”

Taven still hung his head, but didn’t pull away from him. “Okay, Master,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Roth was early to the study he noted, finding it empty at his arrival. He grabbed one of the chairs along the wall and sat down to wait. 

His boss had sounded mysterious enough on the phone earlier this morning, asking him out here, refusing to say anything else than they would maybe have a reason to raise a glass in celebration. 

Roth looked over to the showcase fitted between the shelves covering one of the walls. It was a well-stocked case, full of rare brands of vintage brandy, whiskey, and liquors, each bottle probably worth more than he made in a month. Maybe he would finally have his curiosity stilled, about if a glass of those was really all that, but he doubted it. Nickel wasn’t much of a drinker, and in the last four years, Roth had never seen his boss open the case. 

A few minutes later Taven arrived as well, shyly greeting him with a murmured ‘good morning, Mr. Roth’. Roth asked the slave what it was all about, but only got a bemused shake of the head and a shrug in reply. Clearly, the boy had no idea either. Taven drew back to stand against the wall, nervously shifting feet, fiddling with the end of his braid. 

“Relax, boy,” Roth said. “Your master sounded pretty pleased on the phone earlier, I doubt whatever this is about; it’s something bad.”

Taven didn’t look convinced. Well, Roth thought, he guessed he couldn’t blame him. The last time Nickel had ordered Taven in here, he’d been pleased as punch, too. However, Taven had hardly shared the feeling, seeing as the ‘good news’ had turned out to be another exotic thrown in his face without warning. 

Nickel arrived soon after, carrying a folder, indeed looking every bit as pleased as he had sounded on the phone. “Oh, you’re both already here. Good!” he said. He walked up to his desk but remained standing in front of it, looking down into the folder, pulling out a paper. 

Documents? What _was_ this about? 

“Taven,” Nickel said. “Grab a chair and sit down with Roth.”

Roth imagined both the boy and he looked equally surprised. In all his time working for Nickel, he’d never seen him inviting a slave to take a seat together with a free person, not here in the house anyway. 

Taven obeyed, sitting down beside him, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

Nickel turned to the boy. “I brought you here to explain something important, and I need you to hear me out and not let your feelings run away with you until I’m done, do you understand?”

Taven didn’t look less worried, squirming on the chair, even turning to Roth for a fleeting moment, as if looking for support. “Is- is this about this morning, Master? I said I was sorry. I _am_ sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no,” Nickel said, stepping up to give the boy an assuring pat on his arm. “It’s not about anything you have done. This is something good for you. It’s _very_ good, in fact, but still, I fear, rather complicated for someone like you. Some aspects will be hard to understand, and might even be somewhat upsetting, before you have the full picture. I only want you to listen carefully.”

Nickel smiled and handed Taven the document he’d pulled out of the folder. “As of yesterday,” he declared, “your status in this house has changed. The change is legal, and this is a copy of the contract. Read the first sentence, it will tell you what you now are.”

Roth raised his eyebrows. The boy’s status had changed? What did that mean? Nickel had obviously not freed Taven, but he was stumped imagining anything else. What other ‘change in status’ would there be for a slave? 

Taven looked down at the paper, his brow furrowed, the seconds ticking by. “I can’t read this,” he finally said. “These words are too fucking long and weird.”

Roth couldn’t help grinning, but Nickel shook his head in disapproval. 

“Language, Taven!” he admonished. “Of course you can. Try harder! Read the first sentence again!”

Taven scowled, but took a second look at the paper, silently mouthing the words. “Uh, I’m a con… Con… Concubine?” He looked up in utter confusion. “What the fu… Uh, what is _that_?”

“Um,” Roth butted in. “Concubine? Isn’t that just a nicer word for, you know… sex slave?”

Taven’s eyes widened. “Is that what it is, Master?”

“No,” Nickel said. “Not at all! Uh, well, I suppose, in a way… No, that’s only one aspect of the practice. Calling it ‘sex slavery’ is neither sufficient nor appropriate.”

“Sorry,” Roth grinned. “Sorta sounds like it, though. I mean, that’s a pretty archaic word choice.” 

Nickel smiled. “It _is_ a very old practice, hundreds of years old. The custom originates in times when medicine was little more than witchcraft and infant mortality was high, even among the rich and privileged. The aristocracy married for many reasons, none of them love, and most importantly, to produce an heir. However, what if the lady you married turned out to be barren, or her offspring was weak and kept dying on you? Divorce wasn’t always an option, not if the lady came with powerful allies, a fortune, or much needed land. Also, your own riches and lands might befall your wife’s clan if you didn’t manage to produce a legitimate son to inherit it all and pass on the name.”

“You’d be as screwed as a screwed lord can be,” Roth concluded.

“Right,” Nickel grinned. “Some clans have disappeared from history entirely this way. Therefore, to have a chance at an heir, the law permitted the acquirement of _one_ concubine, who, with luck, could become pregnant with a healthy offspring in the wife’s place. They considered these children legitimate, having the same rights as a child born within wedlock, and they guaranteed the concubine economical support for the rest of her life in exchange for her service. Many acquired one even if the wife did have viable children, simply as some kind of ‘backup’.” 

Taven stared at his master as if he thought Nickel had gone insane, looking down on his stomach and putting a hand on it. “But, Master! What the fuck! I… I can’t…”

Nickel laughed. “No, of course you can’t get pregnant. I’m not completely mad, you know. I’m only explaining the history behind this. It’s not the main purpose of concubinage anymore.”

“Uh, yeah,” Roth said. “’Cause if it was, it would be a hell of a strange thing to do, making a concubine out of a male slave, or…?”

“Well,” Nickel said. “Back then, it would have been a strange thing to make a concubine out of a slave, period. Concubines were free women, but commoners. It wasn’t legal for clan ladies to accept such a role, and they didn't consider slaves of ‘clean enough blood’. However, for a commoner it was a chance for a better life. If these women were poor, the money and safety the position offered might support their whole family.”

Roth nodded his understanding, while thinking it was probably a good idea to allow the position only to commoners. It must have injected some much needed new and fresh blood into those inbred clans, at least if they’d been as keen on only marrying each other back then, as they still seemed today. “Well, this is interesting,” he said. “How come today you _can_ make a male slave a concubine then?”

“I’m getting there,” Nickel said eagerly. 

He loves this, Roth thought, giving his boss an affectionate grin. His friend should have become a teacher instead. He’d be happy lecturing people all day long. 

“The practice evolved,” Nickel continued. “As I said, back then they knew no other way to have another chance at an heir. That any reproductive problems could originate with the _man_, for example, seemed to have never occurred to them. A concubine was only ever a _free woman_, and a scenario in which a clan lady would take a male commoner as a concubine was simply inconceivable.”

“Ain’t that typical,” Roth sneered. “Blame it all on the woman, eh?”

“Well, yes,” Nickel conceded. “I suppose they did. However, with time, society changed. Medical science and living standards improved. Infant mortality decreased dramatically, and lower classes were generally no longer so poor they considered giving up their daughters for ‘breeding’ an alternative. I’m not sure exactly how and when, but the lords started to take concubines for entirely different reasons. They now considered it beneath _any_ free woman to accept such a role, not only clan women, and… Well, it simply transformed into a socially acceptable way for a lord to openly keep _one_ favorite slave girl in his bed, and show up with her in public, without his wife having much of a leg to stand on to complain about it. The laws changed accordingly.”

“Oh,” Roth said. “_Now_ I start to get this.” He turned to Taven who sat beside him and silently kept looking back and forth between them with large eyes. “You get this now too, boy?”

Taven looked as confused as ever, and didn’t answer. 

“Don’t worry, Taven,” Nickel said. “You’ll understand, eventually. “Well,” he continued. “These girls _were_ slaves, but were highly valued by their masters, and were given privileges no other slave had, including being guaranteed lifelong support, as well as freedom for any child born within the arrangement. Some of the privileges afforded those first, free, concubines lingered, you see.

“This is basically the version of clan concubinage that still exists to this day, but of course, there have been changes and additions. Sometime in recent history, there must have been a clan lord who happened to care about his favorite slave _boy_ to such an extent the law changed to include male concubines. Today – though it’s still an option open only to clan members – it _is_ open to _both_ lords and ladies, and your concubine can be any gender. Old traditions prevail, though. It’s extremely rare to see clan ladies take concubines at all, and same sex concubinage is also not common.”

Nickel turned to Taven with a smile. “In fact, speaking of the clans in this part of the country, there are only two male concubines assigned to a lord that I know of, and one of them is now you, Taven.”

In Roth’s head, something clicked in place at these words, and he could see it did in Taven’s, too.

“Oh,” Taven said, understanding setting in. “Oh, oh, don’t tell me, Master! I know! I know who that is,” he declared eagerly. “It’s Serenity, right? That’s just gotta be Serenity.”

Nickel’s smile widened. “It is. Serenity was made a concubine of the Engel clan at fifteen, and, being male, he’s remained unique around here ever since. Well, until now.”

“Is that what all those pre- previ… that stuff he fucking always brags about is?” Taven asked. 

“Language, Taven! Yes, there is a set of privileges, and that’s what I wanted to explain to you today. You should know what your legal rights are.”

“He has _legal rights_?” Roth blurted out. A slave with rights, he’d never heard the like. 

“Indeed, he has,” Nickel said. “According to the law you’re now entitled to the following: A decent living standard, such as being clothed and fed properly, and to have your own living accommodations. To have your medical needs seen to, not be overworked, or be physically harmed without reason. You _can_ still be punished, but the clan must be able to defend in court, if need be, that the punishment was in proportion to the transgression. There's also money that has to be set aside for your needs. Lastly, you have the right to a basic education.”

Taven looked more than confused. “But, Master, you do all that already. I have my own room and more clothes than I ever wear, and I eat, like, all the time. You took me to the doc and gave me new teeth, and spent all that money, and- and… I ain’t working much, you never beat me no matter how much of an ass I am, and you teach me stuff, and… You do all that already.” 

Nickel smiled. “Yes, I suppose I do. Well, the difference is, so far I’ve done all that because I _wanted_ to, but now I _have_ to, and if I don’t, you could take it to court.”

“Wow,” Roth said.

The boy only stared, no understanding in his eyes. Roth didn’t think Taven was actually able to comprehend such a concept as a slave demanding _anything_ in a court of law, or anywhere for that matter. He admitted; he had trouble picturing this himself. 

“Well,” he leaned over to Taven and whispered; making sure Nickel could still hear him. “Just let me know if he doesn’t behave, Taven, and I’ll turn him in.” Roth winked at the boy and ‘discreetly’ pointed his thumb in his boss’ direction.

Taven’s jaw dropped; obviously not getting it Roth was joking with him. 

Nickel laughed. “Thanks a lot, Roth! I guess I know now which side _you’re_ on.” 

“You’re right, Taven,” Nickel continued, serious again. “I’m bound by contract to treat you decently, but there’s nothing stopping any owner from doing the same. The privilege making the real difference here is one of bodily autonomy, to a certain degree. You now have a legal right to refuse sex, with anyone, including me.” 

“Okay, _wow_,” Roth repeated. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” he added. “Why would you give them this right, if you’re basically taking a concubine for sexual reasons?”

Nickel turned to him. “Well,” he said. “It’s yet another privilege that have lingered through the centuries. The first concubines were free women, after all, and though their willingness was assumed, they were to be treated with respect. Granted, if they didn’t produce children within a stated time, their contracts would be annulled, so they _were_ probably motivated, but even so, they might not have been ‘up to it’ every waking hour. There would be times when they felt indisposed or needed time after the birth of a child. The need to say no on occasion _would_ be there, but with access to their bodies being under contract, they were more vulnerable than the wife was. The support of having it spelled out in a clause was clearly deemed important. 

“This clause survived, and the same assumption remains. A slave concubine’s willingness is assumed, and if you care enough about your slave to pursue this status for them in the first place, why would you _want_ to take them forcibly? It really only means the slave has the right to ‘have a bad night’. You shouldn't have to expect _permanent_ refusal, even if it would be legally possible for the slave to do so, I suppose. Of course, it does mean they _can_ permanently refuse to be shared.”

Roth thought about it. “Okay,” he finally said. “I guess it does make sense. You hear that, Taven?” he added. “You’re _one_ lucky dude.”

Taven seemed still too stunned to utter a word. 

“There is however another side to this coin,” Nickel resumed, demanding Taven’s attention with a sudden strict tone to his voice. “You have the right to say no to sex, but you do _not_ have the right to say _yes_ to sex. Do you understand this difference? Should you ever want sexual relations with anyone else, you have to have my express permission. You also have to understand, the right to say no does only apply to sex. A concubine must obey their clan and their assigned master, just like any other slave. Do you understand this, boy?”

Taven’s eyes were big as saucers. “Yes, Master,” he gasped.

Roth grinned. He’d rarely seen Taven so well behaved and attentive. This would be a lot to take in, he supposed, enough to shock you into good manners.

“It brings me to the part that might be the hardest for you to grasp, Taven,” Nickel said, looking again very serious. “Being made a concubine, you were also made property of the clan, and can no longer be owned privately. On paper, this means you really belong to my father since the Head Lord always represents the clan.”

Taven’s reaction was immediate. He sprang up from the chair and dropped the contract on the floor. “No!” he gasped, terror evident in his whole demeanor. “No, I don’t wanna belong to your dad. He- he _hates_ me. He’s gonna throw me out, he’s gonna beat the shit out of me, he’s gonna…”

Nickel pulled the boy into his arms. “Taven, listen to me,” he said. “Do you remember I told you to hear me out? Let me finish and you’ll understand.”

Roth saw how the boy was shaking like a leaf, but it seemed Nickel had a good handle on the situation. Taven remained in his embrace and didn’t protest further.

“I didn’t want you to be shocked reading the contract and seeing my father named as your owner, and that’s why I’m explaining it to you now.” Nickel continued. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, boy. When my father signed the contract, he also relinquished the right to sell you. Concubinage is for life, Taven. My father will neither throw you out, nor beat you for no reason. He signed the contract and the law now forbids him to do either. Do you understand what kind of safety this means for you, boy? You belong to the clan, no matter who the Head Lord is. Can you see how you are now safe independently of me? If I can’t protect you, if I… pass away, you can still never be thrown out of this house.”

“I… I don’t want you to _die_!” Taven gasped, clearly upset at the notion, grabbing at Nickel’s shirt.

“I’m not planning to,” Nickel said, rubbing Taven’s back in consolation. 

“Your dad hates me,” Taven insisted, his voice shaky. “_Please_, Master, I don’t wanna serve him.” 

“You’re not meant to,” Nickel assured him. “Only a Head Lord has the right to accept a concubine into the clan, but they will assign them to serve a particular clan member, usually the one who requested the concubinage. Do you see how it works? My father assigned you to me. You belong to me by contractual assignment now, _me_, and no one else. When I one day inherit the Head Lord title, you’ll belong to me in a double capacity. You don’t have to go anywhere, Taven, or serve anyone else. There’s really no difference from what you’re used to in that aspect.”

Taven still held on to Nickel with a white-knuckled grip to his shirt. “That true now, Master? You ain’t lying to me?”

“Of course I'm not. Your assignment is in the contract, and I gave you a copy. Why would I lie when I know you can read it for yourself?”

Roth shook his head, saddened by the poor boy’s fears. However, Nickel’s explanation mystified him enough he couldn’t help interrupting Nickel’s attempts to assure the slave. “I don’t get it,” he said. “If there’s no difference, then why do this at all?”

Nickel frowned at him over Taven’s shoulder as if it should be obvious, and Roth supposed, in this case, it was. Nickel wanted a secure future for Taven, but it still didn’t make sense to him. 

Roth tried to explain his objections better. “I get it why _you_ would wanna do this,” he said. “But what I’m hearing is Head Lords taking on lifelong responsibilities, and a lot of extra expenses, for a slave they will never have any personal use for, and clan members asking their Head Lords to make their slave a concubine when they won’t get more out of that slave than what they could easily have gotten anyway. They can just spoil them any which way they want to in any case, and the slave can’t be too unwilling in bed already, or the question probably wouldn’t come up in the first place. I see the advantage for the slave, but what do the _lords_ get out of it these days?” 

“I suppose it’s true,” Nickel conceded. “The lords _don’t_ get much out of it anymore. It might be a reason why the practice _is_ so rare nowadays. Most lords wouldn’t bother, and most Head Lords would be quite hard to convince at the best of times. Don’t underestimate the power of human emotions, though. Look at Constantine. He loves Serenity dearly, but he’s a married Head Lord, and Serenity is a slave _and_ a man. This is really the best he can do for him. Another lord I know of grabbed a slave girl for the night, and there was an accidental child. The girl might not have moved him, but the child did. He couldn’t stand the thought of condemning his own blood to slavery. This was the only way to acknowledge that child and have it grow up in freedom. There are reasons, Roth. Not always rational and coldly calculated ones, but reasons nonetheless. Reasons of the heart.” 

Roth nodded, oddly moved by Nickel’s speech. He got it, but he wondered if _Taven_ at all understood the implications of his master’s words. 

Nickel caressed Taven’s cheek and smiled at the boy where he was still holding him close. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said. “Pick up the copy and take it with you. I think you need to read this on your own, in peace and quiet. Don’t worry. I’ll join you soon. We’ll look it over together. I’ll help you with the big words; I only want to speak with Roth about a few things in private first.”

Roth smiled at them both when they left the study. He would have congratulated the boy, if he weren’t so sure Taven wasn’t quite at the celebratory stage just yet. 

Being left with his own thoughts, Roth grabbed the opportunity to ponder the implications of some of the things Nickel had explained this morning. Constantine Engel had made a concubine out of that tall blond overly pretty slave of his, and had assigned the boy to himself, so _he_ had obviously only been too happy to set up a contract. However, usually the Head Lords were hard to convince to go this route, because of extra expenses and a lifelong commitment. So, did this sound like something the _Wren_ clan’s Head Lord would do? 

Of course not. Nickel’s father was an old miser. He would have balked at the suggestion even if he _had_ liked the boy, which he didn’t. Roth didn’t share Taven’s conviction the old lord hated him, but he sure as hell didn’t harbor any warmer feelings for the redhead either. Nickel was of course just as besotted as the old man had feared, but Roth simply couldn’t believe Lord Wren Senior was so moved by his son’s big emotions he’d done this only to humor Nickel’s severely misplaced affection for a horrendously inappropriate slave boy.

So, why on earth _had_ Lord Wren agreed to this? Roth couldn’t shake this persistent feeling _he_ had something to do with it, somehow. However, try as he might, he couldn’t see how anything he had said to the old lord could have resulted in this, rather than renewed attempts to get rid of the slave. 

It wasn’t the first time Roth wrestled with his bad conscience about speaking with old Lord Wren, and he _had_ feared the consequences. Still, in spite of promising his boss not to go behind his back again, and against all instincts to warn Nickel, he’d kept quiet about the whole thing. The situation was just too complicated. Lord Wren Senior was his official employer. Betraying the old man’s confidence would only lead to his immediate dismissal, and then he would be of no help to Nickel at all. 

Well, maybe he should just stop worrying about it. The outcome had turned out to be good, regardless, so, what did it matter? Roth was still determined to get more information out of Nickel.

His boss soon returned to the study, sitting down behind his desk this time. 

“Poor kid seemed kind of overwhelmed,” Roth said. “Is he all right?”

Nickel nodded with a warm smile. “He’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Roth grinned. “He’s not the only one who’s kind of flabbergasted. I have about a million questions right now.”

“If you can distill them down to about a thousand, I’ll do my best to answer them all,” Nickel said, grinning back. 

“You know,” Roth started. “I’ve never even heard of this before. I had no idea Serenity was Lord Engel’s _concubine_. I thought he was just, you know, spoiled.”

“Well, he is spoiled, too. Serenity prefers not to use the actual title; he’s somewhat embarrassed about it, because all the others are women.”

“Uh,” Roth said. “The guy wears dresses.”

Nickel smiled. “It doesn’t make him less of a man. Anyway, I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of it. It is an old, obscure and dying custom, after all.” 

“That’s the weird thing, come to think of it, I might actually _have_ heard of it, in a roundabout way. Do you remember that list I showed you, from one of those human rights groups? Their demands of basic rights for slaves sounded pretty much like those concubine privileges, didn’t they?”

Nickel frowned. “There were quite a few similarities,” he conceded. 

“Yeah, maybe they did their research and based their list on this practice? They’d be satisfied, for now, I gather, if you made ‘concubines’ of _all_ your slaves.”

Nickel gave up a short dry laugh. “Clearly, they don’t realize the costs involved. They’ve reached too far if that’s what they’re going for. The clans would never agree.”

Yeah, Roth thought cynically, they probably were reaching too far. If they couldn’t make a man like Nickel listen, they’d have no better luck with the other clans. 

“Well,” Roth said, dropping the subject. “I still don’t quite understand the whole thing. This almost sounds like some kind of marriage to me, but marriages don’t always work out, as I know better than most. You talked of this as if it was for life. Can you get a ‘divorce’?”

“Concubinage is for life, the assignment doesn’t have to be,” Nickel clarified. “Of course the law allows for an out. I can actually end the assignment at any time, for any reason, and I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. All it takes is a witnessed change to the contract, finished in mere minutes. In fact, the concubine doesn’t have to be assigned to anyone, though, of course, they almost always are. As I said, there is at least one lord, who only wanted to acknowledge the child he conceived. The woman was never assigned to him, and as far as I know, he doesn’t see her at all. Assigned or not, though, they won’t lose their title, their privileges or the lifelong support.”

“I see,” Roth said. He thought he knew why Nickel hadn’t brought this part up while Taven was still present. The boy was insecure enough as it was, he supposed, without learning Nickel could technically still abandon him at any time. “And if the _slave_ wants out of the assignment?”

“It wouldn’t be as easy, I’m afraid.” Nickel said. “However, if the concubine was able to prove in a court of law they were being mistreated the assignment could be broken up, against the lord’s will. Not the easiest thing in the world for a slave to pursue, I’m aware, not on their own, but it’s still an option no other slave would have, no matter how badly treated they are.” 

“And, unassigned, they’d just be doomed to live alone for the rest of their lives, or what?”

“Not necessarily,” Nickel answered. “They could be reassigned, if anyone else in the clan should happen to be interested, though they can’t be officially assigned to anyone outside their clan. Unofficial relations outside the clan, or with another slave, would be possible, too, if the Head Lord permitted it. Even still assigned, it happens.”

Right, Roth thought. Lord Engel had allowed Nickel to ‘date’ Serenity. “So,” he asked further. “Could they say no to be reassigned then? I mean, if they can say no to sex, and sex is assumed?”

“In fact, yes. A slave being _made_ a concubine doesn’t have a say, but at a possible reassignment they now have rights they didn’t have before, and so they can decline, yes.”

“But if they _do_ say yes, they are stuck again, unless they get mistreated enough to… Damn,” Roth said. “This is some complicated shit. Okay, but what if it’s a complete mistake from the start. I mean what if the slave starts taking advantage of their new privileges and is just being an all around nuisance and complete asshole?”

Nickel smiled. “They’d be utterly foolish to, a chance like this is extremely rare, but should such a case occur, the clan can take it to court, too. If the court finds the concubine’s behavior unacceptable, the concubinage can be annulled entirely. An annulment will turn them back into an ordinary slave, and once again the personal possession of their former master, whoever it was, with all that it would entail.” 

“Ouch,” Roth said.

“It could be a rather dire situation to find oneself in, yes,” Nickel agreed. “However, the courts don’t take annulments of contracts lightly, and the concubine would have to have done something pretty awful, or behaved consistently badly during a longer period, for them to consider it.” 

Roth grinned. “Don’t you think someone should inform Blondie of this?”

Nickel smiled, too. “Believe me; Serenity is fully aware of his limitations.” 

Yeah, Roth thought, he just doesn’t give a fuck. “Okay,” he said, keeping that thought to himself. “I think I actually understand this thing now. Taven is really extremely lucky your father agreed to this.” Roth hesitated. “Which makes me wonder…? Um, why _did_ he agree to this?” 

“I told him I would free Taven and actually marry him,” Nickel simply replied, not a hint of a smile on his face.

Roth stared, but then he burst out laughing. “Ha! Good one, Nickel. For a second, you actually had me there. No, seriously now, what did you say to make him agree?”

“Believe it or not, Roth,” Nickel said, still looking as serious. “I didn’t ask him. It’s never crossed my mind to ask. I knew there’d be no chance he would say yes, so I wouldn’t even have tried. I was as surprised as you are, but my father suggested this himself.”

Now, Roth was speechless. 

“I hesitate to use the actual word,” Nickel answered to his stunned silence, “but I suppose, for all intents and purposes, my father blackmailed me. There’s a part two to the contract that states I have to submit to a traditional clan wedding before my thirtieth birthday.”

Roth’s jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t want an arranged marriage,” he said, thinking he knew his friend this well. “You…” The truth slowly became clear to him. “You _sacrificed_ yourself to give Taven lifelong security?” 

Damn fucking shit, Roth swore inside his head. Had the old lord actually visited him only to find out if his son cared enough about the new boy the slave could be used to blackmail Nickel into marrying? Damn, he swore again, feeling not so little bad about his involuntary involvement now. 

“Fuck, Nickel,” he blurted out. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Nickel gave him a small tired smile. “It’s not so bad. Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled by the thought of marrying someone I will most likely not be in love with, but I can’t really avoid it anyway, not if I want to keep all this.” His arm swept around the room in a symbolic gesture obviously meant to encompass the whole of the Wren estate, fortune, land and properties alike. “This is my history, my future, my inheritance. It’s… me. What would I even be without it? It’s only; I never imagined having to marry so soon. I thought I had many years still. Well, since I can’t get out of it anyway, why not do what I can for Taven in the process?” 

“But, if that’s how you feel, your father didn’t have to extort you like this. He could have just given you some time.”

“I think he was simply too unsure of what I do feel about my future duties to leave it in my hands, or to leave anything to chance,” Nickel said. “I can’t blame him, really. Father is from another time, it was never easy for him to speak intimately with his children. Not so easy to figure out what strange things I might to do to hurt the clan. Granted, I would probably not have been able to reassure him I would neatly fall in line, even if he _had_ talked to me. It wasn’t until he put me on the spot I thought it over properly myself, and… I do want a family, sometime in the future. I do want children. Taven can’t give me that.

“What I’m saying is; my father was probably justified in worrying about my behavior, though I can’t say I’m overly happy about how he chose to address the ‘problem’. Well, we did both have what we wanted, I suppose, so… Who am I to complain?” Nickel gave him another smile, more strained this time. 

Roth shook his head. “No offence, Nickel, but really, your father might be just a tad manipulative, you know.”

“Welcome to the clans,” Nickel said, the smile turning slightly bitter.

They both fell silent.

“You might like her,” Roth finally offered in a clumsy attempt to comfort his friend.

Nickel’s smile changed again, warmer now, in obvious recognition of what Roth was trying to do. “Yes, who knows,” he agreed. “I just might.”


	56. Reaching out a Hand

Taven was still staring at the concubine contract when Nickel returned to his room a little while later. In fact, the boy seemed so engulfed he hardly looked up when his master walked inside and sat down beside him on the bed. 

“Have you read it all?” Nickel asked. 

“Um, no, Master,” Taven admitted. “It’s so fu… I’m trying, but it’s really hard to understand.”

“It’s all right, boy. As I said, we’ll go over it together, but first… I’ve got something for you.” 

Nickel reached into his pants pocket and brought forth a pair of wire cutters he’d had one of the house boys conjure up from the maintenance cupboards. He held it up to Taven with an expectant smile. 

Taven did not smile back, looking positively alarmed at the sight of the small tool. 

“No! Good God, boy! I’m not going to hurt you. It’s for your ear,” Nickel said. “I’ll remove the tag.” 

“Oh!” Taven said, understanding rapidly replacing fear. “Serenity said his master removed his, when…”

“Exactly,” Nickel said. “It’s an intimate… ceremony, I suppose you could call it,” he explained. “Removing it has no legal or official importance, but the absence will mark out your new status here in the house.” He caressed Taven’s cheek, smiling tenderly, and giving him a small peck at the lips, before turning the boy’s head to the side. It was a second’s work, a small tug, and the pin was cut. Nickel put the two parts of the tag in Taven’s hand, and the boy studied the pieces of tarnished metal closely, rubbing at his empty earlobe with a shaking hand. 

“Wow,” he said. “It’s been there for… always.” 

“We’ll have your other ear pierced as well,” Nickel suggested. “I’ll get you a pair of earrings, a pair of hoops, or some studs maybe. It will become you.”

Taven nodded, still staring at the removed tag. 

Nickel smiled. “It will be for another day, though. First we’ll have your wardrobe packed up so we can move you upstairs,” he announced, eager to tell Taven the good news. He’d been waiting for such a day. 

Taven looked up. “What?” he gasped. “I’m gonna move?”

“Yes, of course,” Nickel said, puzzled at the distinctive lack of enthusiasm. “You’re clearly above the others now. Staying down here in the slave quarters isn’t appropriate. I’ll have one of the vacant bedrooms across my own properly dusted and tidied up tonight, and we’ll move you in first thing tomorrow morning.”

Taven didn’t look the least bit happy. “Do I have to? Can’t I stay here? Please, Master.”

Nickel frowned. “Why would you want to? The rooms upstairs are much more comfortable, and since you sleep in my bed every night anyway, there’s really no reason for you to constantly run all the way down here to change clothes or take baths.”

“I don’t mind the stairs, Master,” Taven said, staring imploringly. “I wanna stay.”

“I don’t understand you, boy,” Nickel said. 

Taven seemed to search for the right words. “This is my first… I never had… I’ve never had a spot of my own in my life, and I’d never even dreamed I’d get a whole room. This is… It’s, like, my _home_ now, Master. Up there… I don’t wanna stay in a room that nice. I’d break something, or- or… It’d just feel wrong. Please, Master, down here is good enough for me, and I don’t care about the stairs.” 

Nickel was about to tell Taven that even if the boy didn’t mind running up and down these infernal creaky old winding backstairs with their too narrow treads and low beams, _he_ did. However, he thought better of it. Maybe all these changes had overwhelmed Taven more than he’d realized, and now the slave was desperately holding on to the only thing that was still the same. Taven only needed some time to process things, Nickel thought, and he would see moving upstairs in a different light.

“All right,” he said, putting an arm around Taven’s shoulders. “You can stay, for the time being at least, and we’ll discuss it again another day.”

Taven leaned his head against his chest with a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Master,” he said.

“You’re welcome, boy,” Nickel graciously answered. “Now, let’s have another look at the contract”

\-----o0o-----

It wasn’t until much later, when he was lying beside his master – Nickel having been asleep for at least an hour already – that things started to become real to Taven. He stared into the shadows of the room and couldn’t sleep.

Nickel had saved him, and not only for now or until he might tire of him, but for the rest of his life. That’s what the concubine contract meant. Taven could hardly wrap his mind around it, but it really was what it ultimately meant. From the day he’d finally understood what a nice place he’d ended up in, Taven had lived in as good as constant fear of being discarded again. Yes, even when he’d freaked out, fucked up, or had seemingly done everything to destroy things for himself; deep down, it had still been his only wish to stay here. Now, the reason for this all-encompassing worry was simply gone, and he had it on paper he would never have to leave. 

He didn’t even have to worry about competition anymore. Taven had been so upset when he’d thought Nickel had sold Silas he hadn’t realized at the time what it actually meant that the boy was leaving. His master really wasn’t at all interested in Silas, not even for future use. He’d given the boy away. 

No matter what Nickel had said or done before, this was the first time Taven was genuinely convinced his master actually cared about him. It was such an amazingly weird feeling, he didn’t even know if it was a good one. It was just strange. 

He should be happier then, he thought. Should be very grateful, happy, and relieved, and… He was. He really was those things, too. However, in some strange way, he couldn’t quite reach those feelings. Other uneasy thoughts kept getting in the way. 

Everything was still very new and confusing of course, and new stuff was always kind of scary no matter what, but it wasn’t what bothered him the most. _Serenity_ was what bothered him the most. 

That girl downstairs, the maid who’d yelled at him for hitting Silas, she’d called him a spoiled brat. It wasn’t until then he’d realized how the others here viewed him, and now he couldn’t deny anymore he was in fact exactly like Serenity. He had that on paper, too, after all. 

Yesterday, Taven had himself witnessed what ‘being Serenity’ could mean, even if he hadn’t fully understood it at the time. 

Serenity had fetched him in that white sports car of his, as he usually did when Taven was allowed to visit him at the cottage. On the way to the Engel Mansion, it had started to rain. The skies had opened in a short but heavy rainfall that had turned the road dust into mud in no time. Serenity hadn’t liked how dirty the car got. Parking inside the gates, he’d called out to some worker, unlucky enough to pass by, and had ordered him to wash the car. 

Taven remembered how the worker had reacted at the order. He’d visibly tensed up, his hands fisting at his sides, and he’d looked away to try to hide the angry glare. It didn’t take much brain to imagine he was probably overtaxed with work as it was and would have neither the time nor the energy to maintain the spoiled favorite’s luxurious toys, too. Taven had expected the worker to tell Serenity to go fuck himself and wash his own damn stuff if he’d gotten them dirty, but to his surprise, the worker had simply swallowed his obvious ire and bowed his head before Serenity. He’d gotten right to it, obeying without a word. 

It couldn’t be for fear of Serenity himself the worker had obeyed, the man had looked stronger than the two of them together, but Serenity’s _status_. Today Taven understood better than before just how powerless the others slaves back there would be to protest. Serenity wasn’t only one of several trusties who’d been given some authority over a small area of responsibility. He was simply just that much higher ranked than everybody else was. 

All the times Taven had thought Serenity had only been bragging and exaggerating his importance, he hadn’t. Not one bit.

Taven shuddered. The Engel slaves must hate Serenity, he thought. He knew _he_ would have, and that man washing the sports car sure as hell did. As soon as the slaves here were told of his new status they would expect him to start taking full advantage of it, too, and everything that girl had said about him would be true.

No. He didn’t want to be more hated then he already was, and he fucking refused to be like Serenity. While he was lying there, staring into the darkness, Taven came to a decision.

\-----o0o-----

Lunchtime, after classes, Taven walked downstairs alone. His master had kept Silas up there, wanting to talk to him after hours. Taven suspected Silas hadn’t yet been informed he was going to be given away, but he didn’t worry on the little slave’s behalf. Silas would be okay with Mr. Roth, and the boy already knew the bodyguard was a nice guy.

Taven was much too nervous to worry about Silas in any case. 

Lying in bed, last night, awake with the thoughts spinning around in his head, it had seemed so easy to come to this decision, but actually following up on it was a completely different matter. 

Apart from when he’d been punished a while back and had been locked up, the maids hadn’t served him his food in his room since his first days here. However, this didn’t mean he had stopped _eating_ in his room. 

The slaves usually gathered to eat in a dining hall adjoining the kitchens. The space wasn’t large enough to house all of them at the same time, but after a while, Taven had understood they ate in shifts. The room was still usually full of people at every meal, and it was one of the few moments the workers had a chance to sit down and talk with the house slaves.

Taven had never joined them. 

Usually he sneaked into the kitchens before people started to drop in, or after everybody was seated. He quickly grabbed himself some food from the pots on the stove, and hurried back to his room. 

Today he had decided he _would_ eat in the slaves’ dining hall. He’d told himself if he wanted to prove he wasn’t like Serenity; he had to stop acting as if the others didn’t exist.

He grabbed a tray as usual, but it was an automatic thing filling it up. He really wasn’t hungry, and hardly registered what was for lunch. The noise behind him from the opened dining hall was a familiar buzz. Chatter, discussions, laughter… He’d heard it hundreds of times and simply ignored it, but somehow, today, it seemed louder. 

Taven bravely walked almost all the way up to the door, but right before the threshold courage failed him. No. He couldn’t do this. If he went in there, they’d all look at him. What if they wouldn’t even _let_ him come inside? What if they stared him out, or threw food at him, or… It would be for the best if he just left, and… 

“Did you want to eat with us, Taven?” 

Taven jumped at the voice behind him, his bread roll almost tumbling off the tray as he skittishly jerked. He turned, and a friendly wrinkly face, one of the few that weren’t unfamiliar, smiled at him. Taven even remembered her name, Ada. Ada had been the one who had showed him how to scrub floors that one time his master had thought it was a good way to punish him. She’d been nice and hadn’t taunted him, or tried to make it harder for him. Then his master had sent her to teach him how to operate the washing machine. Ada had been nice that time, as well, patiently showing him over and over again, until he finally got how the fucking thing worked. 

“I thought I’d… But- but I don’t know if…” he stammered.

“Oh, of course you should eat with us, boy,” she said, putting a hand on his back and bringing him with her over the threshold. 

Taven didn’t get the wits about him to protest and before he knew it, he was seated at one of the tables, Ada sitting down beside him. Taven stared at his plate. Much as he’d feared, it had turned silent around him. He wanted to run back to his room and never try anything as stupid as this ever again. He didn’t belong with these people and never would.

“Well, well,” Ada spoke up at his side, “you all have so little to do these days you can waste your lunch time staring at people? Is that it?” 

There were murmurs of apologies around them, heads quickly turning away, or looking down, and then the chatter falteringly started up again.

“Don’t mind them, Taven,” Ada said. “They don’t mean to be rude. It’s just, even after all these months; you’re still so new to them. Master hasn’t really allowed us to get to know you, after all.”

Taven frowned. What did that mean? Had Nickel told them to stay away? 

He still felt far from comfortable and his appetite hadn’t returned, but it would be even more awkward if he left now, so he started to eat. He discreetly looked about, but no one was staring anymore, or appeared to be whispering about him. 

After only a few spoonfuls, though, it was as if Taven could sense someone standing behind him. Uneasy at the sensation, he turned his head, and yes, there was some guy in worker clothes behind his chair, holding a tray, staring at him. When Taven stared back, the guy turned red as a beet and grinned widely. 

Taven frowned. What was so damn fucking funny? 

“Jonas,” Ada said, snapping the other boy out of his stare. “Did you want to sit down with Taven and me?”

“Oh,” the worker said. “Oh, can I?”

Ada nodded and the guy put his tray down between them and fetched an empty chair from a nearby table, Ada shuffling away to give him the space. However, the worker didn’t sit down right away; he turned to Taven first with a polite bow of his head. “Um, uh, hi,” he said, his voice shaky. ”I’m Jonas, and- and you’re Taven, right?” 

Then, to Taven’s surprise, he reached his hand out and stuck it under his nose, just holding it there. Taven looked up, frowning deeper, unsure what the worker wanted. 

Ada came to the rescue once again and deflected the awkward moment by simply taking the spoon from the newcomer’s plate and smacking his outstretched hand with it. “You think he wants to shake your hand when you’ve got motor oil all over it? How many times do I have to tell you to wash up properly before meals?” 

Oh, he’d wanted to shake hands. Like free people did. Okay, Taven got it now. 

He never got a chance to take the hand, though. The worker, Jonas apparently, had speedily retrieved it at the smack, shaking it. “Ow!” he whined. “I’m sorry, Ada. I forgot.” He clumsily tried to wipe the oil off his hands on his already very dirty worker clothes. I- I’m sorry,” he repeated, but to Taven this time. “I didn’t mean to get dirt on you, honest.” He finally sat down between them with another wide grin, that Taven realized now wasn’t mocking as much as simply nerves. 

Taven looked the worker over. The guy was much taller than he was and had short brown hair, jaggedly cut in not too flattering a manner for his narrow face. His nose was rather distinctively big and sharp and his eyes were brown and perky. He had large callous hands, and long tanned arms, sticking out of rolled up shirt sleeves, already showing the wiry muscles of a worker, though he couldn’t be that much older than Taven. He tried to meet Taven’s curious gaze but, grinning again, his eyes flittered away. The guy really had the goofiest smile, Taven thought, crooked teeth all over the place, seemingly fighting for the space in his gums. 

He found himself giving the worker a small grin in return. 

“Sorry about that,” Jonas repeated. “Master would have my hide, if I’d stained your clothes, right? I work at the garage,” he went on, “that’s why. I mean, that’s why I’m dirty… I mean, I guess we’re all dirty, all _workers_ that is, but that’s where the motor oil comes from, and… I always wanted to work with the cars, since I was small, and when I turned fifteen, Master said I could, so I’ve been learning for two years now. He’s nice. Master, I mean; he’s really ni… Damn, how stupid am I? Of course _you_ know how nice he is.” 

Taven stared, forgetting his own fears at the other boy’s floundering rambles. What was _he_ so damn nervous about? He probably should answer with something, too, but he couldn’t think of a word to say. 

“Uh, well… Oh, I’m Jonas,” the other boy said. 

Taven grinned wider. This guy was just too funny. He’d already introduced himself once, had he already forgotten? 

“I guess you’ve never noticed me,” Jonas went on, “but I- I’ve seen _you_ about a lot... I mean, uh… Oh, shit, I didn’t mean I have, you know, _looked_, or anything. It’s just you’re kinda hard to miss, what with that hair and all. It’s really nice though. Your hair, I mean, uh… Ada says you’re an exotic, that’s why, and worth, like, ten of me, or something.” Jonas grinned again and leaned down to dry at his upper lip with the hem of his shirt.

Ada smiled and shook her head. “Don’t forget to eat, Jonas,” she mildly admonished him. “Give poor Taven some peace, too. I’m sure he’s not interested in what you think of his hair.”

Jonas turned the brightest red yet and speedily looked down onto his plate. “I- I’m sorry, Taven, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Once again, Taven found himself smiling at the other slave. “You ain’t bothering me,” he said. “You really work on the cars? Can you fix them then? I mean, if they don’t go?”

Jonas at once brightened up at being asked a question. “Sure! I mean, I can’t do everything, I’m still learning, but there are a lot of things already that I _can_ fix, and Bruno says I’m good at general maintenance.”

“Can you drive, too?”

“Yeah, Bruno taught me.”

“That’s cool,” Taven said. “I wouldn’t know how to do any of that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could do anything and…”

Taven had no idea how, but all of a sudden, he was having a _conversation_ with someone.

\-----o0o-----

Much too short a time passed before Jonas had to go back to work, but Taven felt strangely elated as he left his tray in the dishes and walked back to his room.

He was relieved of course, so very, very relieved he’d survived this first attempt to eat with the others, but it wasn’t the relative success of his plan that he felt so good about. Crawling onto his bed and leaning into his usual corner, it took him a while to realize the strange feelings he was experiencing meant he’d actually had fun. 

_Jonas_ had been fun. So easy to talk to and hadn’t seemed to dislike him at all. Above all, Taven hadn’t felt insecure and defensive around him. The young garage slave was so different from the likes of Serenity and Silas. Yes, Taven liked them – at least now he did – but they still weren’t always easy to be around. Serenity was so confident and knowledgeable, not to mention more beautiful than any man had a fucking right to be. Silas was so damn cute, eager to please and well behaved. How could he not feel utterly and hopelessly inferior? It didn’t help that Nickel had chosen _him_, as it didn’t mean Taven was comparable, it only meant his master was fucking nuts.

The garage slave, on the other hand, he’d just been kind of goofy. It hadn’t even bothered Taven how Jonas, too, had seemed to be good at something – cars – because it was work Taven would never be expected to do. Without the fear of being compared, and found wanting, it was actually fun to hear someone talk about something they knew. 

Taven couldn’t remember it had ever been this fast and easy to relax with someone. 

Why had he never talked with Jonas before? Of course, Taven remembered, turning slightly hot around the ears with shame, he’d never even known Jonas existed. Well, he might have missed out on the company before, but he didn’t want to in the future. He wanted to have these new and exciting feelings again. 

Taven pulled his knees up against his chest, frowning to himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to go back to the dining hall, though. What had Ada said? 'Master hadn’t let them get to know him'. Maybe he should ask to speak with Nickel first and make sure he had his master’s permission?

He cast a glance over to his table where the copy of his concubine contract laid on display. It was only, Taven was scared the answer would be no.

\-----o0o-----

Taven sat in his usual spot in the gardens, thinking back on his first few days as a concubine. So far, it really hadn’t been much different from before, which he was mostly grateful about. He hadn’t been back to the dining hall, either, or seen Jonas again. Taven didn’t want to repeat this without his master’s express permission, but there hadn’t seemed to be a good time to ask, or maybe it was only he was still scared to hear the answer.

Besides, the other day, at bedtime, Nickel had had sex with him again. It had been somewhat okay this time, too, it had certainly not hurt, and his master had been pleased. Yet, in the morning, they’d woken up on a large cold wet stain. Nickel had really been very kind and patient about it, repeating how it wasn’t his fault, but Taven had still been low and depressed and hadn’t felt like seeing anyone.

Oh, he didn’t even want to think about it anymore. Taven only wanted to have a fun talk again, and forget his shame and shortcomings. Well, lunch was over, and there were still hours until dinner, but Nickel had never forbidden him to peruse the grounds inside the walls freely, had he? What if he was to take a walk, say down to the garage, and he just happened to run into Jonas, then maybe they could exchange a few words. 

As if he was afraid his master would look out a window and see him, Taven walked all the way around the back of the mansion, and avoided going up to the garage from the front. He eyed the large building with curiosity as he neared. He’d seen it from afar, through the car window, coming up the avenue with his master, but he’d never actually been down here before. The garage was even bigger up close. Just how many cars were there? He walked around the side of the building, slapping his hands over his ears at a deafening screeching sound starting up inside, wondering what the hell kind of machine could make such a horrible noise. 

Taven halted just before the corner and peeked around it to check if the coast was clear, and immediately spotted Jonas standing outside one of the building’s huge doors. However, he wasn’t alone; he was speaking with one of the young maids. Taven quickly pulled his head back, glad he’d thought of looking first, _and_ at the infernal noise. They hadn’t heard him coming. Well, he’d hide behind the corner and wait until she left. 

The hellish sound from the garage stopped as sudden as it had started, and in the quiet that followed, Taven was dropped right in the middle of their conversation.

”…so, what do you say? Can you fix it?” Taven heard Jonas ask. 

Fix what? Curiosity got the better of him, and Taven carefully peeked around the corner again.

The girl held up a shirt against the light, the sun shining through a big hole in the fabric. ”No, I don’t think so,” she said. “This tear is just too big.”

Jonas gave her a pouty face. “But, it’s the only other shirt I have. Try to anyway, please?”

“Jonas, love, I can’t do magic, not even for you. Ask for a new shirt.”

“I can’t. I’ve already had my share of clothes this year.”

“Then be more careful with them.” The girl sighed. “All right, I’ll try to mend this, but don’t expect anything.”

“Thanks, Sarah, I knew you would.” Jonas smiled widely and tried to hug the girl.

Sarah? Taven couldn’t remember if he’d seen her before. Was she Jonas’ girlfriend? He found himself frowning deeply at this thought.

“Stop that!” Sarah squealed. “No hugs, you big oaf, I’ll get grease stains all over.” She feigned anger and playfully pushed him away. “So,” she continued. “Lena told me you talked with the ‘redheaded wonder’ the other day.” She gave Jonas a teasing grin and nudged him in the side with her elbow. 

Taven froze. They were talking about him.

Jonas didn’t look happy. “Yeah, damn! Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “It was just awful.”

Taven’s heart dropped into his belly. It had been awful? Talking with him had been… _awful_?

“Really?” Sarah said. “I thought you’ve wanted nothing else since the redhead got here.”

“I guess, but… Fuck! You don’t get it. I made a complete fool of myself. First, I tried to shake his hand, and he just stared at me like ‘no way am I gonna touch _you_’, and no wonder. I had oil all over my hands. I was just so surprised seeing him in the dining hall, I wasn’t thinking. It was _so_ fucking embarrassing. Then I got so nervous I just blabbered on about all sorts of shit, and… He was really nice though, and asked me questions and stuff, but he can’t really have been interested in all that. I mean, duh, he serves _Master_, why would he want to know what I do at the garage. Shit! I’ve never felt so stupid in my life. He’s _never_ gonna want to talk with me again.”

Taven was stunned. He hadn’t been thinking _any_ of that. Not even close.

“Aw,” the girl said. “Forget him! He’s just a spoiled asshole anyway.”

Taven scowled. He’d fucking known they hated him.

“You don’t know that,” Jonas replied angrily. “You don’t know him, you don’t know if he’s an asshole.”

“Oh, come on! We told you. He broke a chair against the door in his room, and that was just the first day. He beat up the other new boy. Why Master hasn’t whipped his ass long ago is beyond me. He’s spoiled all right, and he’s definitely an asshole.” 

“You don’t _know_ that,” Jonas stubbornly repeated. “We don’t know where he was before he got here. He could have been through a lot of shit. Maybe… Maybe something happened to him, and- and… He was nice when _I_ talked with him, and… We just don’t know, and you shouldn’t talk a lot of shit about him when you don’t know.” 

He understood. Jonas didn’t know anything, but he still understood.

“Oh, you’ve got it so bad.” Sarah sighed again and shook her head. “Jonas, listen to me, I’m telling you this as a friend. Forget him! Even if what you’re saying is true, you should still just forget about him.” 

What? Was Jonas interested in him? In _that_ way? 

“You know he’s Master’s pet,” Sarah went on. “You bet your sorry ass Master is fucking him. It doesn’t mean the redhead actually likes boys, you know, but even if he does… For goodness sake, you big goof, think a little. You really want your own goddamn owner for a rival. He’s got it bad for the redhead; too, don’t you get that?” She threw her hands up in exasperation and waved Jonas’ torn shirt in his face. “Men! You’re all so stupid. We have a really nice master, but you try seducing his precious fucktoy, and you just watch how nice he’ll be.” 

Taven felt a cold lump in his stomach at the maid’s words. He remembered how Nickel had apparently warned Serenity not to touch him, so, if his master had threatened another lord’s concubine, then what would he do to his own worker. 

Jonas stared at her with a lost expression, unable to contradict a word she was saying, that was clear.

“Aw,” Sarah continued. “I’m sorry, but you have to forget the redhead. Even if he should like you back, you don’t stand a chance against Master, and… You’re my best friend; I don’t want you flogged. I don’t want to wake up one morning and… you’re gone.” There was an expression of true worry in her face now, a tremble to her voice.

Taven gasped. Did Nickel _flog_ the workers? He’d thought such things didn’t happen here. 

Jonas still looked lost and confused, scratching his big nose with an oil-stained finger. “I guess someone like Taven would never want to… anyway and… Fuck, Sarah, you’re right. I’m so stupid! I’m so fucking _stupid_! Don’t tell the others, okay? Please!”

She got up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, rubbing at the oil stain on his nose. “Of course I won’t tell. Your secrets have always been safe with me, haven’t they? Go back to work before Bruno sees us, and I’ll try to fix your shirt.”

Jonas remained for a moment, after she’d left, looking as if he was angry at the whole world. He cursed and kicked at the gravel under his feet, but then strode into the garage, shoulders drooping. 

Taven turned and walked back to the house. The bad sinking feeling in his stomach refused to go away.


	57. Mrs. Jones

Nickel had parked at the outskirts of the South End and risked going on foot rather than the surety of the car being either stolen or vandalized, but he felt far from comfortable walking these derelict streets. If he would be honest though, ‘uncomfortable’ wasn’t the right word, ‘scared’ would be more like it. This might not be the worst part of the infamous district, but Nickel had dressed as plainly as he’d been able and wouldn’t look anyone he met in the eyes, trying not to draw any kind of attention. 

Roth would still completely flip his lid if he knew about this.

Not telling Roth was of course utterly stupid and quite went against the whole idea of having a bodyguard in the first place, but this was simply something Nickel felt he had to do on his own. 

Nickel considered his friend where he walked. Roth hadn’t given him that bunch of flyers and brochures only to distract him, he thought, but had obviously studied them carefully himself, as well. When Nickel had read them more properly, he’d noticed several passages Roth had circled with a ballpoint pen. His friend agreed with these activists’ stance on things then. 

Well, _he_ didn’t. 

Oh, Roth had been correct in how Nickel wouldn’t want slaves mistreated any more than these activists did, and he really had no objections to an abuse prevention act, but he found their underlying philosophy a naïve simplification. They wanted equal rights for all, and a class free society. Nickel sneered at the thought. Reality begged to differ, and he’d like to challenge any of them to name even _one_ society in the entire history of the world that had ever managed to uphold such a utopia for any longer period. No, such things were simply not in human nature to maintain. It wasn’t the way to go, Nickel thought. Responsibility of the ones in power was the only way, he believed. 

Roth had wanted to challenge him, Nickel thought, reciting a quote from one of the brochures saying there was no difference between ‘good and bad slavery’. These words in particular had provoked Nickel. He’d been brought up to believe there was. His father had been strict with that the slaves shouldn’t be mistreated, and how he had responsibilities as a master; responsibilities that Nickel took seriously. 

Besides, would the Wren slaves have a better life somewhere else? He’d dare say not. Nickel passed a homeless man sitting on the steps of a scuffed street door, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, staring listlessly in front of him, and the stench of old urine followed him for several yards. Would his slaves be better off living here, passing their days of freedom like that? He most certainly thought _not_. 

However, Roth had said other things not so easily dismissed. He’d correctly pointed out how many people didn’t take their responsibilities as seriously. Nickel had to agree not all who possessed power was worthy of it, and on some level he must have always been aware of this. His father might have been overly protective of him growing up, but he wasn’t so terribly sheltered he hadn’t understood slaves were being mistreated out there. However, he had to admit, it could be he hadn’t quite understood the extent of the problem, or the severity of it. He might not have understood, either, just how badly slaves could be affected by such treatment. 

Buying Taven might have opened his eyes in that respect. 

It was concerning Taven, Roth had spoken the truth most affecting Nickel. He’d said it didn’t matter what he did for Taven, if he didn’t do anything about the underlying problem as well, he would remain a ‘part of his problem’. It had somewhat hurt, or even offended him, to hear it at the time. He was doing his best helping Taven, what else did Roth want him to do? It wasn’t _his_ fault what other people did to their slaves. However, mulling things over, Roth was of course right. Nickel _was_ rich and privileged enough to help beyond what he was personally doing for his own property. 

Nickel had kept quiet about it, but eventually, he’d followed Roth’s advice. 

He finally stopped outside a large building, comparing a street sign with the note in his hand. According to the directions, this was the correct address. 

Nickel looked up along the wall in surprise. It seemed almost comical but a large sign over the entry informed him the building was, of all things, an old biscuit factory. Judging by the design of the sign, it had also been a very long time since any kind of tasty treats had travelled the conveyer belts in here. 

The decrepit state of the building seemed to attest to this, as well. The red brick façade was cracked and there didn’t seem to be a single whole pane of glass left in the frames. On the top floors the windows were covered in cardboard and black garbage bags, the tattered plastic waving in the breeze like mourning flags at a funeral, and at ground floor thick planks replaced the cardboard. Probably to keep the homeless out, he doubted a burglar would be tempted. 

Well, as absurd as it seemed this _was_ the place and a door phone confirmed this. ‘Mrs. Jones’, the sticker put up beside it said; the same name as on his note. Nickel pushed in the number he’d been given, and informed the tinny voice answering the call that he’d made an appointment with Mrs. Jones. He was told he was going to be let in shortly.

‘Shortly’ turned out to be minutes… Long ones. 

Nickel shifted feet, staring at the door, looking about nervously. Being informed of this project, he’d been both impressed and prepared to help, but he had to remind himself now of why he’d wanted to do this in the first place.

Nickel had done what Roth suggested. He’d researched those groups closer; found one he thought didn’t sound so bad, and had made a smaller donation of a few hundred Taler. However, in connection to this donation he’d ended up talking to an activist over the phone who had tipped him off about an unaffiliated project he might be interested in supporting, as well. 

He’d been very surprised to hear the man on the phone suggesting he would donate money to a _slave trader_, but he’d kept listening. Mrs. Jones, as it turned out, _was_ a fully licensed trader, and this place was supposed to house a slave market in the future. However, he was told, starting up this legal business was little more than a front, and the intent wasn’t at all to make a profit.

Eager to gain a wealthy supporter the man on the phone had explained how Mrs. Jones intended to only pick up slaves for her ‘market’ who most desperately needed a second chance. She was simply going to help getting them transferred to new owners. Yes, Mrs. Jones did share their long-term goal of complete abolition, he’d assured him – seemingly completely forgetting he was talking to a clan lord – but in the meantime, she would devote her time to the immediate plight of individual slaves who risked extermination. 

Nickel got the distinct impression this woman had offered to more or less ‘sacrifice her soul’ attaining a slave trading license, only to be able to ‘work within the system’ and save as many as possible. 

There was no doubt the man on the phone admired this Mrs. Jones considerably, and the more the man spoke, the more Nickel thought he understood why. He’d listened in silence as he was being informed of the situation that made her ‘sacrifice’ a necessity, and of how many slaves there really were out there who needed this second chance.

Discarding slaves was a relatively rare thing within the clans. They partially ‘retired’ to do whatever work they were able, and eventually passed away. In the old days, before slave centers, the clan estates had all had a separate burial ground on their lands for their slaves. The Wren clan still had a permit to let their slaves bury their own in a lot behind the house outside the walls. Growing up, this was all Nickel knew of slaves passing away, whether from old age, accident or illness, and he supposed he’d really never spared a thought for what went on outside the clans. 

The activist on the phone had thoroughly informed him. 

A vast majority of slaves outside the clans were never buried. They were incinerated without ceremony, their ashes simply ending up in the landfills. Nickel had also been told a large number of these slaves didn’t die a natural death, and certainly not from old age. 

Nickel knew how the authorities usually dealt with slaves they detained for different reasons. He had desperately tried to minimize the risk of Taven being apprehended and killed in such a cruel way, after all. However, he’d been shocked to learn how often slaves were actually _not_ forcefully taken from their owners, but voluntarily given up. He’d gotten it described to him in just how many ways slaves were considered no longer wanted, and if their owners didn’t manage to sell them… Off to the centers they went. 

The man on the phone had told him these slaves were in many cases actually the _lucky_ ones. Some owners – as determined to get rid of their slaves, but in possession of weaker stomachs – simply threw theirs out in the streets, rather than having to deal with their terror at being taken to a center. This was of course illegal, but people did it anyway.

Nickel had been further informed, for the slave this wasn’t freedom in any sense of the word. There was no place these abandoned slaves could turn, and they would have no means of getting about _anywhere_ in a society where they would eventually be recognized as a slave, and promptly being sent to the centers. Hiding in the underbelly of the city would be their only chance of survival, but there they would also be defenseless against its free inhabitants who abused them relentlessly. Now and then, the authorities made raids among the homeless and procured their fingerprints. If a slave were found among them, he or she would be sent straight to extermination, and would by then probably almost welcome it. 

The state didn’t bother with unwanted slaves, and there were no attempts at rehabilitation, or finding new owners. Young or old, well behaved or having issues, sick or healthy, men, women, children, forcibly taken, given up, or found in the streets – killed, ashes, garbage in the landfills, every single one of them.

These were the slaves, Mrs. Jones wanted to give new homes, how could Nickel not be sympathetic to such a plan? 

After this phone call had ended, Nickel had still had doubts. Surely, that activist had exaggerated the resourcefulness of this Mrs. Jones. She would never be able to get such a project off the ground. However, after doing his own research, Nickel had started to change his mind.

Now standing outside her door, he realized even more her bravery and character. For all her determination, Mrs. Jones would never be able to save everybody. She wouldn’t find all the Tavens out there in the first place and there would never be enough room or money in any case. She would be forced to make a selection already at the door, which would doom the ones she couldn’t take on to a certain death. Even among the chosen, she couldn’t hope to succeed in rehabilitating everybody enough to offer them even to a buyer sympathetic to the cause. She would have to keep making hard choices. 

He shuddered as he realized there was no way for her _not_ to make these choices. If she overcrowded the place, wasn’t careful enough about who she passed on to new owners, or released slaves back into the streets, she would eventually catch the eye of the authorities, and they would revoke her license. 

It made Nickel realize just how weak he himself was. No matter if it would all be worth it to save the few instead of _all_ of them being destroyed, Nickel didn’t think he could stomach being the one personally sending the rest to be exterminated. 

The door buzzed, making him jump, and he hurried to push it open, relieved to step off the street. However, another kind of nervousness gripped him as he walked up the old stone stairs to the factory’s once grand offices. He remembered well how those brochures had blamed the clans for creating the situation in the first place, using their political influence to shoot down any laws that could improve things. 

Well, Nickel couldn’t back out now. He _would_ help save the few.

It was a grumpy voice telling him to enter as he knocked on the office door. However, at first sight the appearance of Mrs. Jones seemed to fit the almost heroic impression he’d gotten of her. She rose from her chair when he walked in and even in flats she was at least an inch taller than he was. Mrs. Jones looked impressively fit, as well, though she had to be in her mid fifties. The wall behind her was completely dominated by shelves crammed full of trophies, medals and plaques, as well as old faded team photos, pins, diplomas and pennants of all colors. 

He recognized a younger Mrs. Jones on several of the photos, and even on a large poster. It looked like she had had quite some success competing in triathlon in her youth.

She gave him a sharp look over and Nickel tore his eyes off this wall of triumph. He swallowed hard as he went up to her and introduced himself, extending a hand. Her handshake was firm, but quick, and not at all friendly. She didn’t sit back down, or asked him to take a seat; apparently, she expected this to be handled in short order. 

“Well, _Lord_ Wren, what can I do for you?” she asked. The way she emphasized ‘lord’ seemed to contain the contempt of every single person in the country who wasn’t clan. 

Nickel refused to let on how intimidated he actually was by now. “As I mentioned in my email,” he said. “I wanted to make a donation.”

“You needed to come all the way out here to do that?” she said.

“Um… I… I suppose not, but I wanted to see things for myself, and… I admit, I’ve done quite an extensive research on your project, and I was curious about who would…”

“I see,” she interrupted. “And _you_ are interested in our cause?”

“Uh…” Again, she made him insecure about how to answer. “I am… Well, to a certain extent… In any case, I was impressed by the idea, and I wanted to help.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why would _you_ want to help?”

“I…” Nickel started, but silenced. This time he really didn’t know what to say, but the imposing woman before him kept staring demandingly. He tried again. “I bought a severely abused slave a while back, and I’ve grown fond of him. I only wanted to…”

“Oh,” she interrupted again. “Got a glimpse of the harsh world outside your bubble, I see. Well, that _is_ kind of you, Lord Wren. Though I’d wager you could afford to buy a few more of the same, if you prefer to give me a few nickels instead, I suppose it might make you sleep better at night just as sufficiently.”

Nickel was stunned silent. He hadn’t expected such open hostility.

She sneered at his lack of answer. “You did want to make a monetary donation, or am I mistaken? Oh, don’t get me wrong, Lord Wren, every penny is needed, but I don’t think you realize what I actually need here. This building is in dire need of renovation. I need builders, electricians, materials… The permits only will cost me dearly. Oh, you’re not a plumber by any chance. No? I can’t even get started unless I can afford a plumber to mend all the backed up toilets in this fucking building. The ground floor is flooded in sewage, but since I _don’t_ have the money; I suppose we just have to swim in shit. So, yeah, it would be very appreciated if you could help with any of that, instead of wasting my time making me give you private tours in the ‘slum’. How about it, Lord Wren, want to pull up your sleeves?”

Nickel frowned. He started to get angry. “I wasn’t at all expecting some kind of tour. I didn’t mean to waste your time. Oh, fine, you’ve got me. Your prejudices are, in fact, completely correct. I have no practical knowledge of any kind, and have never done a decent day’s work in my life, but I do have money. Is clan money really _that_ unwelcome? I only want the worst off to be given a second chance, just like you do.” 

Mrs. Jones’ expression changed from ill-concealed contempt to something much more resembling simple boredom as she sat back down behind her office desk. “I bet you do,” she said. “I’m not mocking you, young lordling. I do believe you feel for the poor things. I’m sure you find the mistreatment unpalatable, and you would surely never treat your own property so horribly. You will still do everything in your power to uphold the system that makes the worst manifestations of it possible at all, but I don’t doubt you’re a softhearted young man. All right then! Give me a few hundred Taler, and then go home before it gets dark, will you? I don’t want the police coming down here causing me trouble only because some naïve lord is too stupid to keep the hell out of the South End and gets himself robbed or murdered on my doorstep.” She reached out a hand, impatiently shaking it in his direction as if she expected him to press a few bills in her palm and leave.

Nickel could do nothing else than gape at the sheer audacity. He didn’t think he’d been so firmly dismissed in all his life before. Still, her words had somehow hit home. Was he really only trying to buy himself out of the responsibility? _Was_ it his responsibility? Nickel was too confused to tell, and definitely too flustered to protest. To his chagrin, he found himself simply obeying her. He pulled the check he’d brought out of his pants pocket and stepped up to put it in her outstretched hand.

Mrs. Jones received the check and looked down at it with the same bored expression, but it was exchanged for one of sheer astonishment soon enough. 

Well, well, Nickel, thought, not without satisfaction. That shut her up, didn’t it? 

“Is this some kind of joke?” she finally said. 

“No,” Nickel said, “not at all! That would be enough, wouldn’t it, to renovate this building?”

Mrs. Jones was still staring at the check in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She blurted out. “This is a check for one and a half _million_ Taler. It’s more than twice as much as my entire estimated budget.”

“But, that’s good, isn’t it?” Nickel said. “I’m sure there will be plenty of expenses, apart from the renovation itself?” 

Mrs. Jones kept turning the check over and over, as if she was trying to find evidence of forgery.

“I can assure you it’s a valid check,” Nickel said.

“So it seems,” she said, looking very suspicious still. “All right, what’s the catch here? What do you want from me?”

Again, Nickel was angry. What would it take for her to accept his help? “I don’t want anything,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t want gratitude, or my name on a plaque on this building, or any kind of influence in the project. I only want you to be able to get this off the ground, that’s all.”

There was neither contempt nor shock in her face anymore, but she hesitated still.

Nickel sighed. “Just… Just let me buy a few nights of better sleep,” he finally admitted.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel walked back to the car, still wary of anyone he met but feeling considerably less worried now that he didn’t carry one and half million in his pants pocket anymore.

Mrs. Jones had taken the money. She could have done nothing else, Nickel supposed, it was simply too much to say no to. It _was_ a lot of money. Frighteningly much. His father would have a conniption if he found out. However, rarely had Nickel been more convinced he’d done the right thing. He couldn’t say he’d liked Mrs. Jones, her dislike of him had been too strong, but the cause for her contempt had done nothing to reduce his confidence she would put the money to good use. 

He only wished he could have felt better about the whole thing.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel was reading a book in bed, later that evening, Taven resting quietly beside him, when the boy bolted up in a sitting position, staring and pointing at the wall across from the bed. “Master,” he said. “Where are the renny drawers?”

He put his book down, smiling. “It’s _Rhen_,” he corrected, “and it’s been gone for weeks.” He was amused, Taven wasn’t overly observant, was he? The valuable chest of drawers had been a rather hefty piece, after all, and it had left a big dark square on the age-old wallpaper, showing just how much they had faded over the years throughout the rest of the room.

Taven frowned deeply. “You threw it out? Wasn’t it, like, worth a lot of money?”

Nickel raised an eyebrow at the boy’s worried look; Taven had never seemed interested in the antiques, but then he remembered how he’d used the Rhen piece to explain how Taven’s damages didn’t make him less dear to his master. He sat up beside Taven and put an arm around his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have compared you to a piece of furniture,” he said. “It isn’t at all the same thing. No matter how valuable it was, you’re worth more to me.”

Taven said nothing to this.

“Well,” Nickel went on. “I didn’t throw it out, I sold it. I found a wealthy collector who had been looking for a piece like this for most of his life. He was so happy for the chance he didn’t even haggle. He simply paid the estimated value.”

“So he paid like a million Taler for _that_?” Taven asked, again pointing at the empty spot.

“One and half, actually,” Nickel said.

“Wow!”

Nickel smiled again. Beyond realizing it was a lot of money, he doubted Taven was able to grasp such a sum. He never could make the slave understand numbers. 

“What are you gonna do with all that money, Master?” Taven asked, looking about the room as if he wondered how much more money could be made of all the old stuff in here. 

“It’s already gone,” Nickel said, laying back down, pulling Taven with him to rest on his arm. The boy snuggled close and put his head on his chest. 

“Oh,” he said. “How much stuff can you even buy for that?”

“Much ‘stuff’,” Nickel said. “However, I hope I ‘bought’ some lives with it.”

“Uh?” Taven said. 

“I didn’t spend it. I gave it away; to an organization that helps people.”

Taven angled his head up to stare at him with big eyes. “You gave all that away?”

“Yes. That chest of drawers has been standing there collecting dust for some two hundred and fifty years, and rather than having it collect dust for another two centuries, I thought it was better if it could do some good. It is, after all, only ‘some broken old furniture’.” 

“Oh,” Taven said, clearly not knowing what to say to that. 

“Well,” Nickel added. “Now that you’ve noticed, and not that I think it’ll ever come up in conversation, but just in case... Never mention anywhere I sold it, Taven. My father will probably wring my neck if he hears of it. Slowly.” 

Taven’s eyes widened and his mouth opened.

Nickel grinned. “I didn’t mean it literally,” he said, ruffling Taven’s hair. “But, seriously, do _not_ speak of it. He’ll be furious.” Nickel gave Taven the same strict look he’d given Eve a while earlier, telling her the same thing.

“I won’t,” Taven promised.

“Good!” Nickel smiled and ruffled his hair again. 

They remained in comfortable silence for quite some time, lying close, but when Nickel felt himself dozing off and reached for the nightstand lamp to go to sleep, Taven spoke up.

“Master, can I…? I mean, _may_ I talk, or, can I…? _May_ I ask you something?”

Nickel looked down on the boy resting on his arm, half amused and half concerned. Taven was only ever this careful about getting it right when he worried about something. “Of course,” he said. 

“The other slaves,” Taven started, hesitating. “Are they, like, not allowed to talk to me, or something?”

Nickel raised an eyebrow. “Whatever gave you that impression? Of course they’re allowed to talk to you. They will have to treat you with respect, naturally, but they are not forbidden to speak to a concubine, not as such.”

“No,” Taven said. “That ain’t what I mean, Master. I ain’t talking about the concubine stuff. I mean, have they _never_ been allowed to go near me, and shit?” 

Nickel frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Taven.”

“They _have_, sorta, always avoided me,” Taven said. 

“Haven’t you always avoided _them_?” Nickel asked.

Taven was silent, obviously not knowing what to answer.

“I’m still not sure what you mean, boy, but I’ll try to explain. We don’t often acquire new slaves to the estate, but it does happen. Normally a new slave would be ‘shown the ropes’ by the old ones. Even one bought only to serve upstairs would need to find their way around, and learn the rules and habits of the house. A personal slave, too, would first be given over to the others for a period. However, you were a bit of a ‘special case’.”

Taven’s cheeks turned red against his chest.

“I realized already at the slave market it would probably be best if I handled you myself,” Nickel continued. “Oh, it wasn’t only that I wanted to spare the house your bad behavior. I did understand part of your acting out was from fear and desperation. Dealing with so many new people, I thought it might be too much for you. I never explicitly _forbade_ anyone to interact with you. I only told them to let me handle your… issues on my own and not to pressure you or confront you. Some of them might have erred on the side of caution and avoided you entirely for fear of angering me. I suppose I’ve made the rest of the house somewhat insecure about how to act around you. Well, but since _you_ never showed any kind of interest in interacting with the others, I didn’t think it was a problem.”

Nickel frowned again. “Is there a problem now? Have someone been mean to you?” 

“No!” Taven hurried to assure him. “No one’s been mean to me. It ain’t that. I was just thinking. If I wanted to eat with them, and, like, talk to them. Could I?”

Oh, Nickel understood now. Taven wanted to get to know the others in the house, and maybe make some friends. Well, this was good, he thought. Surely, it was progress. Somewhere inside Nickel still felt a tiny flicker of something which could almost be some irrational kind of jealousy, but he pushed it down. It _was_ good that Taven wanted to reach out. 

“Of course you can,” he answered. “As long as you understand they’re here to work, and you’re not to hold them up, or disrupt their schedules or the work order overall. However, as long as you aren't, of course you can exchange a few words with them. Making friends will be good for you.” Nickel smiled in encouragement.

“The workers, too?” Taven asked.

“The workers? Why would you…? Well, I suppose you can talk to anyone you want. Only remember, they _are_ all required to treat you with respect. They always were to be careful with my personal belongings by all means, but a concubine is something else entirely. If they treat you badly in any way, you are to tell me, do you understand? I will not tolerate such behavior.”

“No one did anything to me, Master,” Taven assured him again. “I swear!”

Again they fell silent, and again Taven spoke up just as he was about to switch the lights off. 

“Can I just ask one more thing, Master, please?” he said. 

“Well, all right,” Nickel said.

“Did you really tell Serenity you’d kill him if he touched me?”

“What on earth…?” 

“He did say you didn’t, like, mean it literally,” Taven interrupted. “But, he _was_ kinda scared, you know, for real.”

“_Did_ he try to touch you?” Nickel scowled deeply. Right now, he _would_ like to kill the blond blabbermouth. 

“No!” Taven said, sounding exasperated, pulling his head off Nickel’s chest and turning on his back. “He hasn’t done anything, Master, not a fucking thing, and no one else either. It’s just, if I talked to them and one of them… I mean, kinda liked me. I mean, not in a way they’d touch me or anything, only- only… _liked_, you know. Would you… Would you flog them?”

Nickel’s scowl remained. He thought he knew what Taven was trying to tell him. One of the house slaves had a crush on Taven, most likely one of the younger maids. Somehow, Taven had found out, and now he was afraid the girl would be in trouble. Why was he so worried on this girl’s behalf? Did he like her back? The small twinge of jealousy returned in tenfold, and again he forced the feeling down. This was highly immature and unbecoming of a lord, he told himself. He should be glad Taven showed empathy and didn’t want another slave beaten because of him. 

“I believe I’ve told you, boy, we don’t whip or flog slaves here, and ‘only liking’ someone isn’t a crime in any case. I don’t want anyone to hurt you, or touch you in a sexual manner, that’s all. If someone does, you are to tell me. I will deal with it and make sure it’s not repeated, but I promise you, no one will be flogged.”

Taven stared up into the canopy, and didn’t answer.

“You don’t really believe I would actually hurt someone only for liking you, do you?” Nickel asked, worried Taven would think him cruel. 

Finally, Taven came back to him, putting his head on his chest again. “No, Master,” he said. 

Relieved, Nickel held the boy closer and finally switched the light off.


	58. In Defense of an Orange Couch

Roth stuck his new key in his new keyhole, and slowly opened his new door. He felt like an intruder stepping over the threshold, constantly having to remind himself this _was_ his new place. It was quite the place, too, Roth thought, walking through the empty apartment, and quite the posh neighborhood. The neighbors would already side-eye his ratty old car, parked in the street below, he imagined. Roth frowned; he supposed he had to buy a new car now.

Oh well, buying a new car would be fun, actually. He’d really only kept this one because it was less likely to be stolen outside his old place. Yeah, car shopping, he did look forward to that. 

Roth halted in the largest space of the apartment, the living room, and looked about. It was an old building, the apartments gently renovated, all rooms fully modernized while all the charming period features had been piously preserved. The apartment was rather small, Nickel had told him in an excusing tone, as his boss had showed him photos of the interior, only two bedrooms. Yeah, okay, right, if that’s what you wanted to call a place where you could almost fit his entire South End apartment into the living room only.

He took a stroll around the room and listened to his steps echoing under the high ceiling, wondering what on earth he’d gotten himself into. Could he really fit in, in this neighborhood? The apartment sure didn’t feel like ‘home’ yet. Well, of course it didn’t in this bare state, he told himself, trying to stay positive. It would be different once he got all his stuff in here and filled up the place. 

Roth sighed deeply. His old furniture wouldn’t look right in here, he realized, and it would definitely not fill up the place. Not even close. He’d have to buy everything new, and the mere thought made him groan. He hated shopping, he hated decorating, and he had no fucking clue what style _would_ be right for a place like this. Everything had been so much simpler in the South End. Back there, no one fucking cared how things looked. Roth had the distinct feeling, here; he would now be required to care. He groaned again, more than intimidated by the thought of having to _color coordinate_ stuff, and shit.

No, Roth thought, that’s where he drew the line. Like hell he would play interior decorator here. This place was Nickel’s choice, and his boss was the one who liked shopping and comparing colors and what not. Yeah, Roth decided gleefully, he would simply put the whole project in Nickel’s hands and make _him_ decorate and furnish his new place. Nickel wouldn’t say no, Roth was sure. His boss was still grateful he’d agreed to take in Silas, no way would he say no. 

There might have been a small part of Roth that felt slightly bad about taking advantage of his friend’s gratitude, but… Hell, this was a question of fucking carpets, lighting, textiles, sideboards and throw pillows.

Roth shuddered. _Throw pillows_. It was a _crisis_, and he could take no such consideration.

\-----o0o-----

Jonas avoided him.

Taven had waited in the dining hall, seated next to Ada, for Jonas to come in for lunch. However, when the garage slave did finally come in, he only ducked his head, pretending he didn’t see him, and went to sit at a table as far away as possible. Jonas stared down into his plate, seemingly intently concentrated on eating only, and didn’t once look in his direction. 

It wasn’t fun to be ignored, but Taven wasn’t hurt. Neither did he try to pester Ada with questions. He already knew. Jonas acted like this, not because he didn’t like him, but because he was scared of their master. 

He looked down into his own plate, angry with Nickel. The garage slave had been fun. Jonas didn’t hate him at all and had even defended him. He could have had a friend here, but Nickel had scared off the worker. Well, indirectly anyway. 

Only, Jonas was wrong. His master had said he wouldn’t hurt people for liking him. He’d _promised_ he wouldn’t flog anyone. If only Taven could tell Jonas it wasn’t as bad as he thought, they could have another fun conversation. They could still be friends; he was allowed to make friends, his master had _said_ so. 

Taven, having arrived earlier, finished his meal first and left the dining hall, but he didn’t go far. It could be he’d learned a thing or two from Serenity about the efficiency of certain methods. Quickly getting rid of his tray, Taven went back to lean against the wall, just to the side of the door opening, and waited. When Jonas stepped over the threshold a while later, Taven was prepared and simply stepped out right in front of him, forcing him to a halt, countering his attempts to walk around him. 

Jonas was trapped.

“Uh, I- I’m sorry,” Jonas said, red in the face. “I- I have to go back to the…”

“It ain’t a problem,” Taven interrupted. “I asked Master and he said it’s okay.”

Jonas looked more than suspicious.

“I mean, it’s okay if we talk only,” Taven clarified. “I ain’t allowed to get in the way of your work and shit, but you don’t have to go back yet, right? We can go back to my room, and talk. It’s not far.”

“Um, yeah, I know where it is,” Jonas said. “But… Your room? I- I don’t know.” He nervously looked about. 

“Just for a few minutes,” Taven beckoned. “Just to talk. Five minutes? He said it was all right, I promise.”

Jonas resolve crumbled. “Okay,” he finally agreed, “but, only for a few minutes.”

“Great,” Taven said, brightening up. He pushed Jonas to get rid of his tray, too, and pulled him along by his sleeve before the other slave could change his mind. 

“You know the house,” Taven asked while they walked down the corridor to his room, “but you don’t live here?”

“I’ve never been upstairs, or anything,” Jonas answered, “but I know down here. I lived in the other corridor when I was a kid. My mom was a maid, but now I live above the garage, and…” 

They reached his room and Jonas silenced as he stepped inside behind Taven. 

Taven sat down on the bed, but Jonas remained standing in the middle of the room, looking about, avoiding his eyes. It didn’t feel as easy and relaxed as the last time, Taven noted, disappointed. Jonas might have been nervous then too, but at least he’d been prattling on. This time the garage slave was nervous but silent. 

He didn’t know how to change it. The only slave Taven had ever had regular and proper conversations with was Serenity, but Taven realized now it had taught him nothing about making friends. Serenity was the driving force behind all they did; Taven never had to initiate anything. Besides, Taven hadn’t much cared to make a good impression on Serenity, but he wanted to now. Jonas thought Taven wouldn’t like him, after all. 

Desperate to make Jonas more comfortable, Taven stood up again, and reached his hand out. The garage slave had wanted to shake hands the last time but had thought Taven didn’t want to touch him? Well, he was fucking wrong. He reached out more demandingly and tried to give the other boy an encouraging smile when Jonas hesitated, the way he’d seen his master smile at him so many times. 

Finally, Jonas cracked a wide smile in return and took his hand. 

The other boy’s hand was so much bigger Taven’s hand nearly disappeared in the firm grip. In fact, Jonas’ hands were bigger than his master’s were, and they weren’t nearly as soft. Taven didn’t mind either this, or the strong hold, there was only warmth and friendliness in it. 

They both let go at the same time, grinning stupidly, and just like that, the uneasy atmosphere was gone. 

Jonas shyly looked about again. “Somehow, I’d thought there’d be much more stuff in here,” he said. “I mean, you being Master’s favorite, and all.”

Taven grinned, sitting back down. “You wanna see a lot of stuff? Open the closets!”

Jonas turned to the closets at the suggestion, but hesitated with his hands on the doorknobs. He looked back over his shoulder with a questioning look, and when Taven nodded in confirmation, he flung the doors open. “Okay, wow,” he said. “This- this is all for you?”

“Yeah,” Taven said. “Master likes to buy stuff. I ain’t using half of it.”

“Can I look closer?” Jonas asked. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ve washed my hands.”

“Sure,” Taven said. 

Gingerly Jonas pulled out a green silky shirt on its hanger and held it up before him. He shook it, watching the material move in shimmering waves. “I’ve never worn anything like this,” he said, staring at the piece of clothing in awe. “What’s it like?”

Taven shrugged. What was it like? It was okay, he supposed, his master liked it. He was just about to tell Jonas it was nothing special, when it suddenly struck him it actually _was_. Had he really forgotten this fast what it was like not to have clothes? Taven looked down in shame. “You can have some of them if you like,” he blurted out, remembering how Jonas apparently only had one shirt that wasn’t torn up. “Ain’t like Master will notice if some are gone,” he added. 

Jonas stared. “Uh, I- I can’t. I… These are much too nice to work in, and I work every day, so there’d never be a day I could wear them, and- and… Even if Master didn’t notice they were gone from here, they _would_ notice I was wearing them. Um, and you know...” He shook the shirt again, a small grin forming. “These are _tiny_. They’d burst at the seams if I tried them on.”

This time it was Taven’s turn to go red. Of course, just how fucking stupid was he? 

“Thank you, though,” Jonas hurried to say. “That’s really nice of you.” He quickly turned to the closets again, put the shirt back, and closed the doors. 

“I ain’t what you think,” Taven said to Jonas’ back. “I mean, I wasn’t always like this. Before Master bought me, I was… I mean, I was never a worker, not like you, but I didn’t have stuff. I didn’t have any clothes or anything like that. I didn’t even have a…” ‘A name’, he’d wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain closer, or talk further of his former life. 

Jonas turned away from the closets and came to sit down on the bed beside him, pulling one of his long legs up under the other, and resting his elbows on his knees. “Was it tough?” he asked.

Taven turned his head away and nodded.

For several heartbeats, none of them said a word, but then Jonas cleared his throat. “So,” he started falteringly. “What’s it like to have hair that long then?” 

Taven looked back at Jonas, surprised at the change of topic, but relieved the other slave hadn’t pushed him further about his background. “What it’s like?” He grinned. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes,” Jonas said, looking curious. 

“It’s so fucking _annoying_!” Taven swore. 

Jonas’ eyes widened, but then he burst out laughing loudly, and it got Taven started, too, both of them giving into it completely. 

Their mirth was cut off abruptly when Taven’s door opened and their master stepped inside. “_What_ is going on here?” he demanded, staring at them both in suspicion.

Taven might be used to by now that the master of the house came downstairs to pop into his room at all hours, but it was obvious Jonas had never even considered this a possibility. 

Jonas looked so utterly shocked and terrified that Nickel’s unexpected presence might as well have been the descent of an angry god. He tried to get off Taven’s bed, but his foot caught in the bedspread and he crashed to the floor before their master with a nasty thud. Jonas didn’t even try to get up again, only crawled together into a clumsy kneel, staring at the floor, trembling all over. 

“Well?” Nickel said, glaring at Taven.

“Nothing, Master,” Taven said. “Nothing’s going on. I swear. We were just talking. You- you said I could… talk…” Taven went silent. It was clear from his master’s expression he’d done something wrong, but he simply didn’t understand what. 

His master turned the displeased glare to the boy at his feet. “I would imagine you have work to do at this hour, boy,” he said. “Am I mistaken?” 

“Y- yes, Master,” Jonas stammered. “I- I… I mean, no, Master.”

“Then _do_ your work, slave!”

Taven flinched at the sharpness in their master’s voice, but Jonas sprang to his feet at the command and ran out of the room and down the corridor as if the devil was on his heels. 

He still didn’t understand what he’d done wrong, but he knew he somehow had to make it right again. He threw himself on his knees at Nickel’s feet and flung his arms around his legs. “Please don’t be angry, Master,” he begged. “I don’t know what I did. I was just… You _said_ I could talk to people. I- I only talked.”

For a few seconds Nickel only stood there, but then his hand came down to caress him over the head. “You can talk to them,” he said. “You can’t have them in your room.”

Taven looked up at his master. “I- I didn’t know. You never said… I’m sorry.”

Finally, there was a smile on his master’s face. “No, _I’m_ sorry, Taven. I should have been clearer. Well, now you know. Oh, come here!” 

Taven was pulled to his feet, and drawn into his master’s comforting embrace, but he was still shaking at the unexpected anger. 

“There, there,” Nickel said, rubbing his back and pressing his face into his chest. “It’s all right. I’m not angry anymore.”

\-----o0o-----

“Don’t look so fucking nervous!” Taven leaned over as far as the seatbelt allowed and playfully boxed Silas on the upper arm. “I told you, Mr. Roth’s a nice guy.”

Silas jerked a little at the light punch, but otherwise ignored Taven and kept staring straight ahead. Behaving. However, a few seconds later, it seemed he couldn’t help himself; he turned to Taven with a frown. “Yes, I know,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “Don’t… Don’t _swear_ like that!” he admonished. “It’s not good manners,” he added before quickly returning to his previous position, looking straight ahead.

Taven huffed and looked miffed, but didn’t answer back.

Nickel, having watched the boys in the backseat through the rearview mirror, stifled a laugh, finding Silas’ precocious manners as funny as Taven’s sulky pout and his inability to retort. 

However, he was surprised to learn from their brief exchange that Taven had apparently talked to Silas about Roth. Taven assuring the little slave he was going to a kind man must have helped Silas cope with the change, perhaps more so than his own assurances, because Silas had taken it better than he could have ever hoped. They were on their way over to Roth’s new place now, and Silas might be nervous, but he didn’t think the boy was scared. 

Taven _was _swearing too much, Nickel thought, smiling to himself, but he did have a good heart, somewhere under that sneering and sulky demeanor. 

Well, Nickel wasn’t only going into the city to deliver Silas. Today was also Roth’s moving date, and he’d promised to provide the help. Earlier, he’d sent a truck and a few slaves from the mansion with Roth to pick up his belongings. They were probably carrying boxes up to the new apartment right now, he thought, annoyed at the traffic jam he was for the moment stuck in, even if it gave him an amusing opportunity to watch Taven interact with Silas.

In spite of himself, he’d come to wish Silas would be the only one Taven wanted to interact with. 

Nickel was _not_ happy about having discovered someone in Taven’s room the other day. Oh, he wasn’t angry with Taven, not really. He _had_ told his concubine he could talk with the slaves, after all, but he couldn’t forget their laughter, couldn’t forget the sound of Taven laughing so loudly. He’d heard it long before he’d reached the door, and it was the first time Nickel had ever experienced Taven laughing in such an uninhibited manner. Nickel thought it would be a sound he’d longed to hear, but it wasn’t _he_ who had made Taven laugh. 

He’d stormed into Taven’s room, so angry it hadn’t registered with him the _other_ laugh was male, until he saw the worker sitting on Taven’s bed. 

Few clan lords, himself included, would remember the names, or even recognize the faces, of _every_ slave on their estate. However, since he’d taken over, Nickel had taken pride in talking to the younger slaves himself as soon as they became old enough to be assigned permanent work. Consequently, he was slightly more informed about the outdoor workers these days. 

Nickel did know this worker. His name was Jonas, and he’d sent him to work in the garage under Bruno, the mansion’s chauffeur and Head Mechanic. He even remembered the talk with the boy on his fifteenth birthday, some two years ago. The lanky teen had been so hopelessly shy and awkward it had quite tested his patience. In fact, it had been a chore to get a single meaningful word out of him. Nickel had finally managed to interpret the boy’s stammered mumbling as an interest in the mansion’s extensive car collection, and he’d sent Jonas to the garage. He’d regretted it at first, suspecting the slave was a bit ‘slow’, and fearing it was a mistake to send such a boy to work anywhere near heavy machinery. However, in the weeks after his decision, he’d questioned Bruno on several occasions and the chauffeur kept reporting a steady progress and claimed he had much use for the boy.

Since there were no damages to the cars, or any other kind of trouble, reported, Nickel had eventually forgotten his misgivings and had let Bruno keep the boy. In fact, he hadn’t spared this particular slave a single thought since. 

Until he’d found him in Taven’s room. Laughing... with Taven. 

So, this was the one Taven had been talking about, asking his master what would happen if someone ‘liked’ him? It wasn’t one of the house slaves, and not a girl, but one of the younger workers. Nickel wouldn’t have expected this in a million years. Oh, it was no wonder someone had a crush on Taven, as adorably cute as his concubine was, or that the young worker might be gay. He wouldn’t have guessed it, but there were many males on the estate, and he supposed one or two of them _had_ to be gay, statistically speaking. No, it wasn’t those things, but shouldn’t a simple worker understand to keep such utterly inappropriate ‘yearnings’ to himself?

Nickel hadn’t officially informed the rest of the estate of Taven’s new status, though he’d mentioned it to Eve and told her to pass it on to the house slaves. It could be the garage slave simply hadn’t heard yet, and didn’t know he’d been flirting with his owner’s concubine. This, together with his promise to Taven, had saved the garage boy from further reprimands. Still, the workers really should know not to bother a personal slave so obviously out of their league, concubinage, or not.

However, Taven hadn’t been bothered, had he? That hadn’t been the laugh of someone who was in any way bothered by the attention. Remembering their laughing once more, it was as if a black haze flared in front of Nickel’s eyes, and… 

A long and angry signal from a car horn right behind him snapped him out if his dark mood. The queue was moving again, but he wasn’t. 

Nickel got the car rolling, telling himself he was being silly. Enjoying the attention, wasn’t the same as being interested in the one who gave it to you, after all. No, it was only that Taven wanted to seek friendship among his own kind, now that he felt safer and started to grow into his role. The problem was; a slave like Jonas _wasn’t_ Taven’s kind. Didn’t his concubine understand this? 

Oh, maybe Taven did understand. If he really thought about it, Nickel could relate. He didn’t have overly many close friends among his own kind, either, did he? No, Nickel’s best friend was Roth, after all; a man many clan people would be quick to point out was far beneath him on the hierarchical ladder. Of course, Nickel didn’t see it that way. In fact, Roth _not_ being clan was such a refreshing part of his life. 

Roth was unpretentious and honest, like few clan members were. He was completely unimpressed by his boss’ wealth and social status, and simply liked Nickel as a person. Of course, this meant Roth sometimes told him things to his face he might not want to hear. Often, his friend didn’t hold back in a misplaced respect for his blue blood, he thought. However, as tough as that could be on occasion, deep down, Nickel wouldn’t want it any other way. Roth’s ‘telling it like it is’-attitude did keep him grounded. Above all, Nickel could relax with Roth like no one else he knew, the bodyguard representing none of the demands of his life as a clan lord and heir, and none of the stifling proprieties. 

Maybe Taven also simply felt relaxed around the worker.

Nickel had to believe this was the case, because the alternative was of course unthinkable. Taven couldn’t actually be _interested_ in the worker, could he? Surely, he couldn’t find that big-nosed, dirty boy with too many teeth any way near attractive. Let the garage slave yearn and pine, surely Nickel could trust his concubine not to reciprocate. 

He smiled as he thought about the moment he’d shared with Taven this very morning. How they’d woken up close to each other, and how their snuggling and cuddling soon had turned into sex. He didn’t doubt anymore Taven really did enjoy being with him. He would of course remain careful and gentle, and wouldn’t fool himself into believing sex wasn’t still a complicated issue for Taven, but the boy _was_ satisfied in his care. Naturally, Taven would rather stay in _his_ bed than ever having such rough hands on him.

Nickel straightened up as he drove. He was young, not bad looking, if he did say so himself, and had given Taven everything a slave could hope for. It was simply stupid someone like him should feel insecure in such a way. 

Surely, Taven knew where he belonged.

\-----o0o-----

”Mr. Roth! You cannot be serious.”

Nickel stopped outside the open living room door at the irritated voice, listening in. He’d left Silas and Taven outside with the slaves from the mansion, to help carry boxes, and the people in the room were too involved in their discussion to have noticed him. 

“Oh, I’m serious all right,” Roth answered. He crossed his big arms over his broad chest and tried to stare down the woman in front of him in an apparent attempt to show just how serious he was.

The woman, Ms. Frost, was an interior designer that Nickel had hired. A few days earlier Roth had come out to the mansion claiming he needed to talk about his new apartment. He’d looked so worried Nickel had feared his friend had changed his mind and wanted to move back to the South End, in spite of already having signed the contract and paid the first month’s rent in advance. However, it soon enough became clear it was ‘all this decorating shit’ that had had his friend scowling so deeply. 

Roth had more or less begged him to take care of it, apparently more scared of throw pillows than of any criminal he might encounter out there in his line of work. Nickel had gladly complied, but had not intended to go into any furniture stores himself. He’d hired Ms. Frost and told Roth the cost was on him, that it would be his ‘house warming gift’. Ms. Frost was an acquaintance of his cousin’s wife, Gertrude, her and her friends having hired the interior designer several times in the past. However, in spite of Gertrude recommending her warmly, Nickel now started to wonder if hiring her had been such a good idea, after all. 

Ms. Frost didn’t back down an inch at the large bodyguard’s stance. “Mr. Roth,” she started patiently. “This couch is… I’m sorry, but there’s no way to say this politely. It’s an abomination! There’s no possible way we can do something about this room with this horrible piece in here. It will have to go.”

“It’s a perfectly well-functioning couch.” Roth argued. “It stays!” he declared, raising his voice and stepping in front of it as if he prepared to defend it with his life.

Ms. Frost’s assistant, a young slave woman holding a huge stack of paint and fabric samples, seemed considerably more intimidated by Roth’s valiant defense of his old friend, the couch. She hid behind her mistress’ back at his angry voice; as if she thought Roth would attack them.

This notion didn’t seem to cross Ms. Frost’s mind, she carried on heedless of the mountain of man before her. “You can’t be serious,” she repeated. “Look at it! That style went out of fashion thirty years ago. There can’t be a single spring left intact in it, the fabric is frayed, it’s covered in cat hair, and it’s _orange_. Did we, or did we not agree on a color scheme, Mr. Roth? We did? Yes, now tell me how orange will fit in that scheme.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Roth said. “Can’t I have _one_ thing? You’ve not let me keep a single piece of furniture, so far. I have to have _something_ in here the cat recognizes the smell of, or she might die. She’s old, you know.”

Ms. Frost rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. “Mr. Roth!” she said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Are you actually telling me your _cat_ is going to decide how you decorate your home?”

“Uh, well,” Roth floundered. “Uh, yeah, sort of, but… Oh, for fuck’s sake!” 

Nickel couldn’t hold back at that, he burst out laughing loudly, and they all turned his way. 

“Thank God!” Roth said. “Finally, a friend. Nickel, tell her!”

“Absolutely,” Nickel said, turning to the exasperated designer and her overloaded assistant. “You couldn’t be more correct, Ms. Frost, except for one thing. An ’abomination’ is much too nice a word for that- that… thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s at least possessed. Get rid of it, as fast as you can!”

“What the…?” Roth threw up his hands at this unexpected betrayal. “Oh, I give up. Take it then! Go on! Take it! Nickel, if the cat gets depressed, I’ll blame you.”

“Thank you, Lord Wren,” Ms. Frost said, visibly relieved. “I’ll be back tomorrow; Mr. Roth, and then I expect the couch to be gone.”

Roth only muttered something unintelligible under his breath at ‘the order’ while Nickel walked Ms. Frost to the front door. He closed it behind her, and her slave, struggling with the samples, and returned to Roth. 

“Fuck,” Roth swore. “That’s one stubborn woman.” He turned to the couch and held his hands out to it. “Can you _believe_ that?”

“Should I hire someone else?” Nickel asked; again worried about the choice he’d made.

Roth turned back to him with nothing but surprise in his eyes. “What? No! No, no,” he said. “She seems to know what she’s doing, and the mood board she showed me was great. I would never have thought of stuff like that myself, and… No, no, she’s a great decorator and all that…” Roth silenced and again turned to his old orange couch, poking at it with his foot. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Um, you don’t happen to know if Ms. Frost is seeing someone at the moment, do you?”

Now it was Nickel’s turn to stare in surprise. He’d noticed long ago how Roth had an affinity for women with a full figure, which Ms. Frost was indeed in possession of, but she was so much older, and so… imposing. Well, he thought, feeling a wide grin coming on, if Roth was looking for a woman about ten years his senior, who knew what she wanted, then Ms. Frost would most certainly be a candidate. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he answered, “but I bet Gertrude knows. I’ll ask her.”

Roth gave him a somewhat embarrassed grin. “Great,” he said.


	59. Behind the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taven is having some quality time with Serenity, his now fellow concubine. Serenity has a few pieces of advice for him... and a reality check...
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Every few chapters, or so, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank everybody for your kudos and comments, and for giving the story a chance overall. Thank you all! :-) 
> 
> /Fran

Already going up the avenue, returning from Roth’s new place, Taven saw the white sports car parked in front the house, Serenity leaning against it.

The tall slave gave his master a hopeful smile as they parked and got out of the car, but Nickel returned it with a frown. 

“You are to call to ask first,” he chided.

“I did call, Master. I’m sorry. I couldn’t reach you. I thought I’d take a chance.”

“Well, don’t! I’m not letting Taven go with you tonight. Go home!”

Serenity hung his head. “Yes, Master. I _am_ sorry. I should have waited, but… Since I’m here anyway, can I just talk to him?” He looked up with pleading eyes. “I mean, we’ll stay here, and I’ll only be an hour… _half_ an hour? Please?”

His master glared. “Half an hour, not a second more,” he finally agreed.

Serenity smiled widely. “Thank you!” He reached out, urging Taven to take his hand. “Come on, Taven, show me your room. I don’t think I’ve ever been downstairs in this house before.”

Taven didn’t take Serenity’s hand but looked up at his master instead. Nickel had forbidden him to have anyone in his room?

His master seemed to have correctly interpreted his expression. “It’s all right, Taven. As long as I’m informed, Serenity is an exception.”

“Great! Thanks,” Serenity hurried to say, grabbing Taven’s sleeve and pulling him along, as if he was afraid Nickel would change his mind. 

“Come upstairs as soon as he’s leaving,” his master called out behind them, but Taven was too busy trying to keep up with Serenity’s much longer strides to reply. Such an order hardly needed confirmation anyway.

Having been downstairs or not, Serenity still seemed to know where the kitchen entry was, going straight for the door and pulling it open. “I’m an exception?” he asked as they walked through the kitchens, the slaves they met halting at the sight of him, looking like they didn’t know if to bow or not. “An exception to what?”

“Nothing,” Taven murmured. Nickel’s anger at finding Jonas in his room still bothered him greatly, and he didn’t feel like confiding in Serenity. 

Serenity only shrugged his shoulders behind him as Taven led him through the corridor and into his room. 

His guest looked about with a frown and a shudder. “Rooms like this give me the creeps,” he said. “Might as well be a fucking prison cell.”

Taven sat down on his bed. Serenity wasn’t wrong, only Taven didn’t much care. This room wasn’t more restricting than anything else in his life was. In a society like this, a sane slave soon stopped being bothered about restrictive spaces, and only about who was holding the key. Nickel was a kind and caring ‘key holder’, and it made this room closer to a home than anything Taven had ever experienced.

“Couldn’t Nickel even get you a damn chair?” Serenity complained, looking about for something to sit on.

Taven didn’t answer. The fact he’d been such an ass the day he’d been taken here was another thing he didn’t feel like telling Serenity.

Serenity didn’t seem to notice his silence. He finally slumped down beside him on the bed, and started to grope inside his jacket. “Well,” he said, “to be honest, I wasn’t really interested in your room. I only wanted to see you alone for a few minutes so I could give you these.” He pulled out no less than three flat boxes and pushed them in Taven’s hands.

Taven recognized them, even without struggling to read the labels. “Those wax strips?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably never speak to Nickel about the whole ‘facial hair thing’, and I guess you can’t get this stuff on your own, so, bought you some. Those should last you for some time, and when you need more, just let me know.”

“I… I can’t pay you back,” Taven said, confused Serenity would have thought of him in this way, and gone through the trouble. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Serenity said. “You can buy these at the supermarket, so I just put it on the grocery list. This is courtesy of the Engel estate. Constantine never questions my ‘beauty needs’ anyway.” He grinned. 

“Thanks,” Taven mumbled, unsure how to feel, or how to show his appreciation. Well, he could always confide in Serenity, he supposed, and admit the other slave had been helpful. “I gotta tell you something,” he started. “Your advice… Warnings… Whatever! It helped. I’m… Well, I know what you are now.”

“Know what I am? What do you mean?”

Taven looked up from the boxes in his hands and turned to Serenity. “I know all about the pre- previ… the contract,” he clarified. “I know about the whole concubine-thing.”

Serenity frowned. “Shit, I hate that title,” he muttered. “Nickel explained all of that to _you_?”

Taven nodded. “He had to, ‘cause…” He turned his head to the side, stroked his hair back, and showed Serenity his empty earlobe.

It seemed it took a while for the penny to drop, but then Serenity’s eyes widened. “You have got to be kidding me,” he finally said. “Seriously now, does this mean what I think it means? Lord Wren… Nickel’s father, he gave you the privileges?”

Taven couldn’t help the proud smile. “Yeah!”

“Oh… my… God!” 

He wasn’t prepared for the hug attack. Serenity gave up a sound that couldn’t be said to be anything else than a squeal as he tackled Taven to his back on the bed. 

“Oh my God, Taven, that’s just great. I can’t believe it.”

“Fuck! Get off!” Taven managed, having almost had the wind knocked out of him, pushing at Serenity who was still sprawled on top of him. 

Serenity quickly pulled away, holding his hands up. “Oops, sorry! Forgot about the whole ‘no touching thing’, but what do you expect when you give me news like this?” Serenity grinned widely. “I gotta hug you, of course. Seriously, Taven, this is _amazing_. You must really have made a good impression on old Master Wren if he agreed to this. Do you even realize how unusual this is, and… Damn, it’s just fantastic.”

Taven frowned. He _hadn’t_ made a good impression on Nickel’s father, so why on earth had the Head Lord done this? The scary old man hated him, had wanted to throw him out. Flog him. Why the bizarre turnabout? 

He didn’t have a chance to ponder this mystery further. Serenity demanded his attention with a demonstratively deep and loud sigh at his side, looking like a kicked puppy. 

“Damn, I… I wish that had been me,” he said. ”I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s just…” There was yet another deep and sad sigh. 

Taven stared at him, and it was the weirdest thing, but the scorching jealousy and crippling inferiority he’d always felt whenever Serenity had mentioned his time with Nickel simply evaporated, just like that. Serenity was the one who was jealous of _him_ now. For the first time, Taven didn’t feel a need to hide his low self-esteem behind a barrage of sneers and insults. For once, he felt he could afford to show Serenity some generosity. 

“Were you, you know, in _love_ with him?” he asked, careful not to sound sarcastic.

Serenity smiled a little. “I suppose I actually was,” he admitted. “Aren’t I the fool?”

“Are you still? I mean, in love with him?”

Serenity’s smile turned only a tad bitter. “I guess, but… What do slaves like us know about such refined feelings, eh? Love, Taven, it’s only for free people, the sooner you get that, the better.” He shrugged off his sad demeanor and sat up straight. 

“My feelings have nothing to do with it. Nickel explained the contract. Well, then you know I could never have belonged to him anyway. I used to have these silly daydreams where Nickel found some kind of loophole in the law, so he could buy me, but I knew there was no such thing. I’m stuck with the Engel clan until the day I die. Of course, Nickel doesn’t actually want me anymore anyway, so… Don’t worry, Taven, I _am_ happy for you, and believe me, silly daydreaming aside, I’m no threat to you, or your place in this house.”

Taven nodded. Serenity had never been a threat to him; he understood that now. He felt this strange urge to comfort Serenity somehow, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better. “Uh, but, Master Constantine _is_ nice, ain’t he, and you still have all these rights, and shit.”

Serenity laughed at him, rolling his eyes. “Naturally, I’m suitably grateful.” He looked down. “Ah, you’re right of course, things could definitely be worse. We _are_ privileged, compared to all other slaves, spoiled even, and we shouldn’t forget it, but… Don’t be too fooled by all this, Taven. Nickel explained your rights. Think about it for a minute; think about how much those rights are actually worth out here, in the _real_ world.”

Taven frowned. He wasn’t sure what Serenity meant, but there was something in it that did resonate with him, only he couldn’t put words to it.

“You know now you can say no to sex, right?” Serenity said, seemingly prepared to explain closer. “A right like that isn’t worth _shit_. I mean, come on, Nickel just gave you the highest status a slave can ever have in this country, and he expects you to ever have the nerve to say no to him?” 

Taven slowly nodded. It was true. He’d never even contemplated saying no to a man who had done so much for him.

“Believe me; a slave is way better off without that particular right,” Serenity continued. “Do you know why Nickel was so angry with me when he found out I had had sex with those lords and ladies? It was _because_ of my privileges. He knew I could have said no, so he was hurt that I didn’t.” 

“But,” Taven said. “Why the fuck _didn’t_ you say no, then? I mean those people hadn’t done stuff for you, had they? Not like Master Constantine. You didn’t have to be grateful to _them_.”

“Just saying no, isn’t that easy,” Serenity argued. “Free people, they don’t understand. They hammer the fact of your utter dependency into your head from fucking birth, and never give you any kind of choice, ever. Then they throw a damn concubine contract in your face when you’re still only a kid, and expect you to suddenly just handle having choices?” He snarled angrily. “Yeah, give the pretty slave a choice, watch him screw up, then name him a fucking slut, and call it a day.”

Taven looked down and nodded, he got it.

“But… it was way more complicated than that,” Serenity said. “Let me tell you something else first, and you’ll understand.”

Taven looked up at Serenity and nodded again. He did want to understand this. 

“Have I ever mentioned Constantine’s son?” Serenity asked. 

Taven raised an eyebrow. It was hard to remember all Serenity was chatting about, but he was pretty sure he had in fact never mentioned a young Lord Engel. He shook his head. 

“No? Constantine actually has _two_ children.” Serenity grinned. “Don’t ask me how they were conceived. Well, Constantine’s daughter was already married off years before he bought me, but she comes home now and then, for her parents’ birthdays and things like that. She seems nice, though she mostly ignores me of course, but she’s never said a mean word to me, either. Constantine’s son, though… Lord Albert Engel…” Serenity visibly shuddered and looked away. 

“Albert is Constantine’s heir, and usually the heir lives at the mansion with his own family, prepared to take over whenever the current Head Lord croaks. However, Albert and his wife and kids also moved out before I came to the house. They live in the city now. Constantine and his son don’t get along, you see. Actually, they can’t fucking _stand_ each other.”

“Why?” Taven asked.

“Albert is very conservative,” Serenity went on. “He hates that his father is gay, and that he’s so open about it. I mean, it’s not like Constantine _talks_ of it, but there isn’t a clan around here that doesn’t know, and he just doesn’t seem to care. His marriage to Lady Portia is of course only one of convenience, and it was never meant to be anything else. Lady Portia is okay with it, too. She knew from the start, and if you ask me, she’s fond enough of her pretty slave girls to be _very_ understanding of her husband’s preferences.” Serenity grinned again. “Yeah, they both knew what they were doing when they married, and they have always been good friends, no animosity between them. That’s why Lady Portia has no problems accepting me. Of course, like her daughter, she rarely stoops to actually acknowledging my existence, but she doesn’t begrudge her husband of his male ‘plaything’.”

“Master Albert does?” Taven asked. He started to understand where Serenity was going with this.

Serenity nodded. “Albert _hates_ me. He hates that his father loves me, hates the mere thought of his father having sex with someone like me, or only keeping me around. Albert is embarrassed his father shows me off so openly, and he took it as a personal affront when I was made a concubine. Somehow he blames _me_.” Bitterness scrunched up Serenity’s pretty face. “I was nine. I was fucking _nine_ years old when Constantine bought me, but _I_ was the one who seduced the old man? Like I ever had a fucking choice in anything.” 

Taven made a face in sympathy. “Lucky he ain’t around,” he said. 

Serenity laughed dryly. “He lives in the city, Taven, not on the other side of the country. Albert and his father run the estate together; he comes to all the clan gatherings, occasionally goes to parties and events with Constantine and Lady Portia… He turns up at the Engel Mansion all the time. Several times a week, if I’m lucky, and if he can readily get hold of me, out of Constantine’s sight, he rarely wastes a chance to let me know exactly what’s in store for me.”

Taven’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Serenity hugged himself and looked away. “You’ve read the contract; the concubine belongs to the clan. When Constantine dies, Albert will be Head Lord, and then I’ll belong to him. Albert has explained, in detail, what he’ll do to me when that day comes. He’ll take away everything I was ever given. I’ll be taught to be grateful for a threadbare worker’s shirt and the occasional stale piece of bread, he tells me. I’ve had it described just how badly, and how often, I’ll be flogged; how often, and how roughly, he’ll let the workers rape me, and, to never offend his eyes again, I can look forward to being locked away for- for… For the rest of my fucking life. It- it won’t be in a room as nice as this, you can be sure of that.” 

Again, Serenity looked about Taven’s room with a shudder. “I… I’ll go crazy,” he said. “Locked up like that, I’ll go crazy.”

The small and shaky voice shocked Taven. It sounded so uncharacteristic out of the confident concubine’s mouth. “But- but he can’t.” he said. “That- that ain’t… He _can’t_ do all that. It says in the contract, you can’t do stuff like that to a concubine.” 

Again, Serenity laughed. “Here we go again. I told you, that contract doesn’t mean shit in real life. If Albert does all that, it won’t be legal, no, but… Who’s going to confront him about it? Who’s gonna care enough about _me_ to go against a fucking _Head Lord_ and drag him to court over a thing like that? You tell me that, Taven!” 

Taven shuddered. Serenity was right, wasn’t he? There simply _was_ no such thing as safety, not for a slave. “Can’t you tell Master Constantine?” Taven asked, desperate to hear there was still a possibility of the safety the contract promised. 

“Sure, but what good would it do me? Constantine would be angry as hell with Albert, no doubt, and would order him to stop tormenting me, but that wouldn’t change anything. I’d still only be safe until Constantine dies, and then I would have an even angrier Albert coming after me. I’m stuck with the Engel clan remember? The only way Constantine could really save me was if he disowned Albert, but he would never do that. It doesn’t matter how much Constantine loves me or how much he dislikes Albert. He’s a Head Lord, the future of the entire estate, and the whole of the clan is his responsibility. There is simply no chance he would ever disown his only son over a _slave_.” 

Taven didn’t want to give up. “Master would care,” he said. “He’d help you, Mr. Roth, too. They’d care.”

Serenity didn’t abandon the bitter laugh. “Oh, Taven…” He shook his head. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about your former life, but I’m not stupid. I can put two and two together, and whatever happened to you, I know it was bad. Nickel, he… He’s a kind man, and I bet he didn’t _buy_ you as much as he _saved_ you, right? He’s taking care of you and you get to see all his nice sides, and he’s your hero now. But believe me; you do _not_ want to see just how icy cold those friendly brown eyes of his can become if he thinks you’ve betrayed him.”

Taven’s eyes widened.

“Besides,” Serenity went on. “You think Albert would let me have an out like that? Who do you think made me serve those people I ‘cheated’ on Nickel with, in the first place? I was so fucking terrified of Albert; I didn’t dare disobey him. I just had to smile nicely and let his friends fuck me, again, and again... I fucking hated it. I’d seen Nickel for several months, I was head over heels, and his was the only touch I craved. You think I don’t know what it’s like when someone tears your clothes off and bends you over the back of a couch, and… 

“Well, Constantine found out, and was angry as fuck. I was scared he’d even break up the assignment, and I couldn’t tell him Albert made me do it. I just had to ‘admit’ I’d been ‘disobedient and naughty’ and let him think I was too young and horny to ‘keep it in my pants’. Well, as it turned out, Constantine wasn’t the main problem. He forgave me soon enough and didn’t even punish me. It wasn’t as easy with Nickel, I’m afraid.” 

Serenity’s face contorted in a hateful grimace. “_That’s_ what Albert wanted. He knew Constantine would forgive me, but I’m sure he also knew Nickel wouldn’t. He wanted to cut me off from the only one who actually might have helped me, and oh did it ever work. Nickel and Mr. Roth both, they think I’m a fucking lying whore now, and don’t really want anything to do with me.” 

He looked down at his scarred wrists and pulled them into his sleeves. “They _don’t_ care, Taven. Not anymore.” 

“But- but if you told Master all this. If you explained what happened, that Albert made you do it, that it wasn’t your fault, that…” 

“No!” Serenity shook his head. “I can’t. Nickel would probably only think I was lying, and… Don’t you see? I’d need to be reasonably sure they’d help _before_ I told a free man about this. Because if I told and they _didn’t_ want to help… Albert would find out I complained about him, and then he would… No, I can’t tell. Albert will make it so much worse for me.”

Taven wanted to ask how the hell it could be worse, but he knew, after all, some free men would always know how to make it worse. “But, if _I_ told…”

Serenity turned to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, desperation in his eyes. “No! You haven’t seen how cold Nickel can be,” he repeated. “We can’t tell him, okay? Not now in any case, not while I can’t trust him to help me. Do you understand? I told you all this in confidence, because we’re the same now. There are only two of us around here, you know. We should stick together. Don’t tell him, Taven. Promise me, you won’t tell him!” 

Taven nodded. Could he in fact claim he knew his master better than Serenity, to make such a decision for him? If Serenity felt he couldn’t trust Nickel, who was he to argue? He sure didn’t want to be the one who made it worse for his fellow concubine. “I won’t tell,” he promised. “I swear!”

As soon as he’d uttered those words, Serenity let go of him and got up from the bed, his ordinary carefree smile back on his lips. “It’s probably been half an hour,” he said. “You’d better not let your master wait for his concubine, eh?” He grinned widely and winked at him. “Oh, and, sorry, I made this all about me, didn’t I? Hey, I _am_ happy for you, and I’ll prove it. Later on, another day, we’ll celebrate your concubinage, okay. Yeah, I’ll think up something real nice, and we’ll celebrate.” 

Serenity didn’t wait for an answer but simply turned and bounced out the door with yet another wide smile and a wave goodbye over his shoulder.

Taven remained on the bed, shuddering. Serenity’s ability to ‘change moods’ so quickly had never seemed as fucking uncanny. He started to understand just how little of his true self that slave ever showed anyone, and this had been a depressing peek behind the mask. 

So many things made sense to him now. No wonder Serenity took advantage of his privileges, wallowed in luxuries, took risks, provoked free people, and seemed to care so little what others thought. He had nothing to lose. Why wouldn’t he live as much as possible, while he still could? In a few years, when that old sickly master of his died, his life would be instantly over, and he’d be no better off than Taven had been in the rat hole under Swift’s apartment building. At least Swift _had_ come back to pull him out. Serenity already knew he’d be locked away _for the rest of his life_. 

Taven shuddered again. Serenity wasn’t _that_ old, the rest of his life would be a very long time. 

Serenity had said he was sorry he’d only talked about himself, but Taven understood there was more to it than ego this time. There had been a warning in all he’d said. A warning not to get too comfortable, to not believe in free men, even when they tempt with safety, to be careful about what he was doing, and not ever, _ever_, make Nickel’s eyes go cold. 

Taven hugged himself, feeling so bad for Serenity, but if he could help it, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. He would do anything not to lose Nickel’s support. 

He forced himself to get off the bed and walk upstairs. No matter his lingering unease, if his master wanted sex tonight, he’d make sure to be extra attentive and pleasing, and ‘like’ it more than ever.

\-----o0o-----

Roth sighed at the mountain of unpacked boxes stacked up in his new living room.

Even having thrown out his furniture, when most of his stuff was gathered in one spot like this, his personal belongings amounted to much more than he’d ever thought. How the hell had he managed to squeeze all this junk into that small South End apartment? 

Well, this was as good an opportunity as ever, he supposed, to go through it all and throw out some shit. Packing up the old place, he’d even found a pile of junk – clothes and stuff – belonging to his ex wife that he definitely didn’t need to keep. Yep, that stuff would _so_ go. The first year after their divorce he’d nagged her constantly to come get it, she’d had her chance.

This decision might not have put a smile on his ex wife’s face, but Roth was positive clearing up the clutter would highly please a certain interior designer. Taking an initiative like this might increase his chances in his slowly forming plan to ask Ms. Frost out. Well, if she wasn’t seeing someone, that is. He’d wait for Nickel to dig up some information in the case before making a move. 

Roth chuckled to himself, seems he’d turned his boss into the PI this time. 

Well, it was too late in the evening to start up a big de-cluttering project, and he only wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet, now that everything had been moved and everybody had left. 

Roth sighed; he already missed kicking back on his old couch with a purring cat warming his lap. However, the couch had been carried down the stairs by the same poor uncomplaining slaves who’d carried it _up_ the stairs not half an hour earlier, and the cat was royally pissed off. 

Missy really hadn’t appreciated all the strangers coming and going _and_ being plopped down into this new environment. She’d hidden in a closet in the master bedroom, and was glaring demon eyes at him every time he checked on her. Yeah, probably wouldn’t come out for at least a week now. 

There were the softest steps behind him and Roth jumped, spinning around. Oh, of course, it _wasn’t_ only the cat and he anymore. It was such a new and strange thing to get used to, and Silas was so uncannily quiet, he kept forgetting the boy was here. 

Silas bowed before him and held up an empty drinking glass. 

“Yes?” Roth asked, not understanding.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Silas said. “Where do you want the glasses, Master?”

Right, he’d told Silas to unpack the kitchen stuff. He shouldn’t have gotten the boy started this late, but he supposed Silas could finish the one box. “Oh, just put them anywhere,” he said.

Silas was visibly confused and uneasy at such a vague order, looking like he didn’t know if he dared ask for further information.

Roth took pity on him. “Put them in the cupboard above the sink,” he clarified.

“Yes, Master.” Silas bowed again and backed out of the room.

Less than a minute later, he returned, bowing and holding out a coffee mug to him. 

Roth couldn’t help the sigh, fearing Silas would do the same with every item in the box, which, in that case, would drive him nuts. He wanted to tell the boy to think for himself, damn it, and put stuff wherever he thought it would fit, but he swallowed his annoyance. 

This wasn’t easy for Silas. Yes, they both had to get used to this, but Roth wasn’t stupid, he realized they weren’t doing so from a level playing field. The way Silas saw things; he’d have much more to lose if this didn’t work out. Roth already knew Silas was timid, obedient and fearful of not pleasing. A boy like that would naturally be scared of putting something in the wrong place, and maybe anger his new ‘master’. He had to try to remember to handle Silas with all the reserves of patience he possessed.

Giving Silas a reassuring smile, Roth walked him over to the kitchen. “Listen to me, Silas,” he said as they stood in the door, looking over the boxes. “The kitchen is going to be your domain. You’ll be doing most of the work in here, so it’ll simply be most practical if you put everything where _you_ think it should be. Do you understand what I mean? _You_ decide what the right places are, and if something doesn’t work, we’ll just switch things around, okay?”

Silas looked over the boxes with wide eyes. “Yes, Master,” he said. 

“Great,” Roth said. “Do it any way you like, I won’t be angry,” he assured him.

“Yes, Master,” Silas repeated and, surprisingly enough, got right to it, as if he’d already had a well-thought out plan in his head he’d only been too afraid to set in motion.

No, wait, Roth thought, hadn’t he meant for them both to take the rest of the night off? Ah, well, he didn’t really want to stop the boy, now that he was actually showing some initiative. He’d give the little slave an hour, or so, and then he’d send the kid to bed. 

Roth smiled, watching Silas methodically unpack and sort things around him. The kid really wasn’t the passive unthinking living doll he seemed to be, was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
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> /Fran


	60. The Ice Cream Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Paxterhobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) made the cutest illustration to this chapter :-) However, it is a bit of a spoiler, so, the link for it is in a note at the end of the chapter. Read the chapter first and then go and 'aaaw' at the drawing! :-) Thanks so much, Paxterhobber *hugs*
> 
> /Fran

Again, they were seated on opposite ends of the dining hall, staring down into their plates, not looking at each other, but this time, Taven felt really bad about it. 

The last time, Taven had known Jonas avoiding him wasn’t because he didn’t like him, but this time he wasn’t so sure. Taven had lied to Jonas, after all, hadn’t he? He’d told the garage slave their master was okay with them talking, but then Nickel had stormed into his room and proved him wrong. Their master had scared the shit out of Jonas, and he must wonder why Taven had put him in that situation. 

He hadn’t meant to. Taven had really thought it _was_ okay. How the hell could he have known he was allowed to talk to the others anywhere but in his room? Well, there was no use in trying to explain this to Jonas. The garage slave had walked in earlier without as much as a glance in his direction, and it was obvious he was angry ‘the spoiled favorite’ had thoughtlessly got him in trouble. 

The food really didn’t taste good today. 

Jonas finished his meal unusually fast and hurried for the dining hall door, still without looking at him. Maybe he was a bit too eager to get away. Jonas clumsily bumped into Taven’s chair as he passed, almost dropping his tray in Taven’s lap. 

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” Ada chided from her usual place beside Taven. 

“Oh… I- I’m sorry,” Jonas stammered. “I’m really, really sorry. I- I didn’t mean it. I… I’m sorry,” he repeated. He turned and fled.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy lately,” Ada muttered at his side.

Taven didn’t answer. He sneaked a hand under the table instead, quickly grabbing the tightly folded up piece of paper Jonas had dropped in his lap and pushed it down his pants pocket. Again, Taven found it hard to enjoy his meal, but now from restless curiosity. Rarely had he finished so fast, throwing the tray in the large kitchen sink on the run, eager to get back to his room. 

He crawled into his usual corner on the bed with the piece of paper, and unfolded it with shaking fingers, both scared and hopeful at what it would say. At first, he stared without understanding, but then he managed to interpret the pencil scrawling inside a large drawn square as ‘big house’. Another square farther down said ‘garage’, and yet another, even farther down: ‘old stables’, a dotted line showing the route between. The last square, the ‘old stables’-one, had a large arrow pointing to it, along which it said: ‘Tuesday’ and ‘two o’clock’. 

Taven was stunned. Jonas had dropped him a message to meet him, place, directions, date, time, and all. Nothing even remotely similar had ever happened to him before, and his heart beat hard in excitement. However, gripped by a sudden fear, Taven quickly got off the bed and took the note into his bathroom. Looking at it one more time, to memorize the simple message, he ripped the paper up in small pieces and flushed them down the toilet. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he felt he needed to get rid of ‘the evidence’. Taven wouldn’t be doing anything bad if he followed the note’s instructions, after all. Jonas and he would of course only meet to talk, and they wouldn’t be in his room, so there was no way he could go against his master’s orders. Even better, Jonas deciding the date and time must mean he’d chosen a moment he wouldn’t be missed, so Taven wouldn’t risk holding him up from his duties either. He really wasn’t disobeying his master. 

Really, he wasn’t.

\-----o0o-----

As filled up as Taven’s mind was, with the excitement of the secret message Jonas had given him earlier in the day, he was soon forced to concentrate on other things.

Taven studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He’d done all he could to look as good as possible, washing his hair, letting it air dry properly before brushing it until it shone, and then braiding it tight and neat. The wax strips, he’d used in plenty of time for the redness to go down, and the clothes he’d chosen were all his master’s favorites. He’d even taken care to brush his shoes, as well as his teeth.

It wasn’t with much enthusiasm he was grooming himself this carefully, but his master had informed him they were going out, and even if he didn’t care what those shitty lords and ladies at The Club thought, he did want to please Nickel. 

At least Taven assumed The Club was the place, his master hadn’t specified, but where else would they be going on a Monday evening? 

He didn’t look forward to it overall, knowing it would be long boring hours, but he was still determined to attend his master better than the other two times. It wasn’t only that he wanted his owner to see him as useful – he knew the contract meant he wasn’t going to be thrown out if he wasn’t – but he wanted Nickel to be proud of him. This, Taven realized, demanded more than only being passable. 

Taven frowned, only a short while ago he would never have thought so, but now he wished for Silas to be back in the house. Silas took serving very seriously. He’d overheard the boy speaking with the maids, shortly after he’d learned he would be given to Mr. Roth. Silas had asked them to show him things he might need to know to serve his new master better, as he would do more household work than he’d been previously trained for. 

Preparing in such a way, making an effort to learn without being ordered to, it had never occurred to Taven, but it would of course be something an owner would like. Yes, Silas would know how to make a master proud of you, not only deem you ‘good enough’, and Taven could have used the advice. As it was, he didn’t think there was anything else he could do than trying to look nice, and be on his best behavior. If Serenity was at The Club, as well, he would tell him to fucking _not_ speak with him, and for once try to behave, too. 

Taven sighed deeply. Of course, like the last time, he wouldn’t be _able_ to tell Serenity this, because he would be wearing the bit. He might have decided to acknowledge the fact he was not an ordinary slave anymore, and should act in accordance, but his master didn’t know this, and would probably not believe him if he told. 

No, it would be the bit again. 

This fact brought down Taven’s mood considerably, but it didn’t kill his determination. Bit or no, his master might have been constantly ashamed of his attending slave, but he shouldn’t have to be embarrassed to bring his _concubine_. 

Nickel walked in shortly after, and Taven stepped out of the bathroom to greet him. 

“Oh, don’t you just look splendid?” his master exclaimed at the sight of him. 

Well, at least the man’s wide and pleased smile was a good start to the evening.

“Are you finished?” Nickel asked. “Good! We’ll be on our way shortly, I’ll only…” He took something out of his jacket pocket, looking down at it, turning it around in his hands. 

Taven’s heart sank as he recognized the plastic case he knew contained the bit. This time his master wouldn’t even wait until they got there, he would put it in right away. Taven’s stomach twisted painfully, but he obediently opened his mouth when Nickel lifted a hand to his face, and closed his eyes tightly. His master wouldn’t use the bit in anger this time, he knew, but Taven still couldn’t bear to look at the man while he put it in and he couldn’t help how he trembled at the memory. 

There were no fingers invading his mouth, no cold metal against his tongue, only a soft caress at his cheek.

“No!” Nickel said. “I… I don’t want to use it, not tonight, of all nights. I want to trust you, Taven. If you tell me I can trust you, I won’t even bring it.”

Taven opened his eyes, his mouth still gaping, but now in surprise. “You’d really…? I- I… I’ll be good, Master,” he hurried to promise. “I _swear_!”

Nickel didn’t reply to his slave’s assurances, but he stepped past him and put the case down on the table. 

Taven hardly dared believe it, but Nickel only smiled and put an arm around his shoulder, turning to the door. “Let’s go,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

A car, one of the smaller ones Nickel usually drove himself, was already parked at the front of the house, waiting for them, but it seemed they would still have a chauffeur tonight. Taven spotted Bruno through the tinted car windows, already seated behind the wheel, wearing his black driver’s cap. They climbed into the back seat.

“So, ‘Master’, where to then?” the driver asked, turning around with a big grin, briefly lifting his cap in greeting. 

Taven’s jaw dropped. That wasn’t Bruno at all; that was Mr. Roth.

“Oh, that’s not funny, Roth. Take it off!” Nickel said, frowning, but he soon smiled again. “Thanks for coming with us.”

Mr. Roth kept grinning, but took the cap off and put it on the passenger seat beside him. “No problems,” he said. “It’s been ages since I was on a ‘double date’.” 

“Double da…? Oh, you asked her, you asked Ms. Frost out?”

“Yep, sure did.” Mr. Roth smiled smugly. “And, as you’ve already deduced, she said yes. So, thanks for the ‘detective work’.”

“Well, the detective part only consisted of calling Gertrude to ask. The work part came after that, and consisted of one and a half hour of clan gossip.”

Mr. Roth laughed while getting the car started and driving down the avenue. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I adore Gertrude, really. I should talk to her more often. So, are we picking Ms. Frost up?”

“Nope,” Mr. Roth said. “She wouldn’t hear of us going out of our way. I’ll be meeting up with her at the restaurant.”

“Are you sure,” his master said with a frown. “It _is_ in the South End.”

Taven suddenly became more attentive at his master’s conversation with his bodyguard. Weren’t they going to The Club?

“That’s what I said to her, too, to which she answered, and I quote: ‘I can damn well take care of myself’.”

Nickel laughed. “I can actually easily picture her staring down a mugger.”

“I know, right?” Mr. Roth said, admiration in his voice. “She’s a formidable woman, isn’t she? Oh, and don’t worry, I explained the ‘special arrangement’. She’ll be expecting separate tables, and that I’m technically working tonight.”

“Oh, thanks for arranging that, or things might have become awkward.”

Taven listened in carefully on their banter now. He didn’t understand. They weren’t going to The Club, which meant Mr. Roth could go with them, but he had a date with a woman, only they’d said something about a ‘double date’…? Taven froze. It must mean his master had a date, too. Nickel had asked someone out. Who? Was it a woman? A clan lady? Why had they brought him then? Was he going to learn to serve his master _and_ his date? Taven squirmed on the seat, uneasy at the thought, for several reasons. He didn’t want to watch his master dating someone, what if he _kissed_ her. The man would definitely be angry if his bad attendance skills made his ‘lady friend’ uncomfortable, too.

By the time they reached the restaurant Taven was so nervous he felt sick. 

Mr. Roth brightened up as soon as they walked through the doors at the sight of a woman waving to them from a table farther inside. He waved back with a wide grin, before briefly turning to pat Taven’s shoulder. “Congratulations, boy,” he said, smiling at him. “Try to have a nice night, you hear?” Then he turned to his master with the widest grin yet. “Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck! Damn, I feel like a schoolboy on his first date.” 

“You’ll be fine,” his master assured Mr. Roth. “She’s going to love you.” He sent him off with a small push.

Okay, so that was Mr. Roth’s date, but where was the woman his master was going to see, and why had Mr. Roth congratulated him? 

A man in a white shirt turning up to show his master to a separate booth in the back of the restaurant forced Taven out of his worrying thoughts. He dutifully followed. 

Taven had of course never served his owner in a place like this. He was more nervous the closer they got to the table, but Nickel only told him to sit down across from him. Feeling awkward and out of place, Taven watched ‘White Shirt’ smooth out their tablecloth before handing them a menu each. Taven received his with ever-increasing confusion. Did Nickel mean for them _both_ to eat? He’d never shared a meal with his master. All right, Nickel had brought his lunch up to the classroom a few times, to teach him table manners, but he’d eaten _before_ his master then, not _with_ him. 

Maybe this was some kind of test. By now, Taven was sure there wasn’t a date, after all, or he’d never been allowed to sit down like this. However, the possibility of his table manners being scrutinized didn’t make him less scared. He remembered vividly all the times he’d dropped the fork and knife on the floor up there in the classroom, and dreaded doing the same here. The other guests would stare, and his master would be ashamed of him. Again. 

His master ordered mineral water for them both and as soon as ‘White Shirt’ left, he turned to Taven. “It’s really not good manners to put your hair on the table, boy,” he softly admonished.

Taven turned beet red, only now realizing, in his nervousness he’d pulled the braid over his shoulder and was frantically twisting it around his fingers, the end brushing the tabletop. Cheeks still flaming he threw it back. 

“Relax,” Nickel said. “Tonight, I didn’t bring you to attend. It won’t matter if things don’t go perfectly. I saw to it we would have some privacy at the back, and no one knows us here anyway. This is your night, Taven, so don’t be nervous and try to enjoy yourself.”

This was _his_ night? Taven still didn’t get a thing, but then it struck him, maybe this was because of the concubinage? Yeah, that had to be it. An ordinary slave wouldn’t share meals with his master, but maybe a concubine would? Serenity had talked of celebrating, too, and surely, the privileges were what Mr. Roth had congratulated him about. The talk of a ‘double date’ had only been a joke.

He didn’t get a chance to ask if he was correct. 

Nickel pushed Taven’s menu closer. “Take a look,” he suggested. “Tonight, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

Taven forgot his confusion. “R- really? Whatever I want?”

His master smiled. “I said so, didn’t I?”

Taven pushed the menu aside. He didn’t need to look to know what he wanted, but he doubted his master would agree. Well, maybe it couldn’t hurt to try. “Master,” he started carefully. “You think they have, you know, ice cream here?” 

Nickel raised his eyebrows. “Ice cream? You would have _ice cream_ for dinner?” He frowned, but the disapproving expression slowly changed into an amused smile. “Well, I did promise.”

His master called ‘White Shirt’ over and Taven listened in while the man ordered a green salad, and discussed the selection of vegetarian dishes before settling for the eggplant lasagna. 

He remembered how Serenity had once described Nickel bringing him to places in the South End, ‘dating’ him, letting him order dinner for himself, and he wondered if this would be similar. As nervous as the idea made him – listening to his master didn’t help, he still wouldn’t know what the fuck to say to order something – remembering how proud Serenity had been; he couldn’t help hoping for the same kind of acknowledgement.

However, ‘White Shirt’ never turned to him. “Will your boy have anything, Sir?” he asked Nickel instead.

“Yes,” his master answered. “Give him the largest ice cream dessert you can fit on a plate!”

“Uh…?” ‘White Shirt’ raised an eyebrow at that, but gathered quickly. “Certainly, Sir.” He collected their menus and left with a bow. 

Taven waited in excitement, hardly believing his master had actually agreed, and when the plate was finally put down before him, he thought he must have died and gone to heaven. He’d never seen so much ice cream in his life. Not only that, there were several flavors, too, and this mountain of pure bliss was garnished with fluffy clouds of whipped cream, sprinkles of all colors, chocolate wafers, and virtual rivers of hot fudge and raspberry jam. 

He was speechless. 

“Oh my God!” Nickel laughed. “Now, that is a revolting amount of ice cream. Don’t eat it all, you hear?”

He did hear, sort of, at least he heard his master babbling about something in the distance, somewhere, far beyond the ice cream mountain. Taven was way too busy shoveling giant spoonfuls of the tastiest stuff he’d ever had into his mouth, to pay attention.

Taven wouldn’t have believed it, but there finally came a moment when he’d had enough. Trying to discreetly burp into a napkin, he eventually ended up pushing a slushy mess of melted ice cream and fudge across the plate, physically unable to swallow as much as another sprinkle or he’d burst, he was sure.

Nickel laughed again. “Goodness… Where on earth do you put it? You sure don’t have a belly to show for it. You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

Taven grinned happily, hardly able to breathe, he was that full, and shook his head. “Thank you, Master,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Nickel answered, reaching over the table to give his hand a squeeze.

“Master? Why…? What’s all this about?” Taven asked, trusting their booth was private enough for him to talk freely. “Is it because I’m a concubine now?”

His master looked surprised. “No. It’s… You really don’t know?”

Knew what? Taven shook his head. 

“It’s September sixteen,” Nickel said.

He frowned. Was there suppose to be something special about today? Was it a holiday? Taven had no idea and, again, shook his head. 

“Taven, it’s your birthday.”

He was stunned. It was his _birthday_? “How- how do you know?” he finally managed.

“It’s in your papers,” Nickel explained. “It used to be in your ear, as well. You didn’t know part of those numbers is your date of birth?”

Taven shook his head. His birthday had been in his ear all this time. It was all so hard to wrap his mind around, and it took him seemingly endless moments to form the question he wanted to ask. “So, how… How old am I then?”

Nickel gave him a sad look. “You don’t even know…? Oh, Taven, if I had known, I would have told you long ago. You’re eighteen. It’s your eighteenth birthday today.”

This took him even longer to process. He sat there, feeling a vague ache in his stomach, and didn’t know if it was because of what he’d just learned about himself, or the ice cream. Then it sunk in what his master had actually said. “Eighteen?” he almost yelled. “I’m _that_ fucking old?” 

His master laughed. “Old? You think that’s old. What does that make me then, one step away from the retirement home?”

Taven blushed, that wasn’t what he’d meant. Free peoples’ age didn’t matter, not in the same way. “No, Master, but- but… You’re not a sex slave,” he finally said, trying to express his concerns.

Nickel scowled at him. “Well, neither are you.”

Taven gasped. What was his owner saying?

“No, no,” Nickel said. “You misunderstand me, boy. You know I _love_ to have sex with you.”

His master had chosen a bad time to utter this semi-loud assurance as ‘White Shirt’ passed by their table with plates for other guests at just that moment. Nickel blushed, while the other guy tried his best to pretend he hadn’t heard and hurried on his way.

Nickel continued in a considerably lower voice. “I only meant you are _more_ than that,” he said. “Your age has nothing to do with it in any case. I’m sorry if you thought you were younger, boy, but it’s only in your head this is a problem. _I_ don’t consider you too old. You realize I’ve known your age all along, and I still told you I sometimes worry you’re too _young_ for me, remember? I understand you’ve been taught extreme youth is pleasing, but it’s certainly not to everyone’s taste. Eighteen isn’t old, Taven, for goodness sake, and I will not consider you too old the day we celebrate your thirtieth birthday either.”

Taven shook his head against this notion. Being as old as thirty was simply too strange to imagine. “It’s a sort of… kink?” he asked, thinking liking an older slave in his bed might simply be another of his weird master’s strange quirks.

Nickel gave up another short laugh and shook his head. “Goodness… No, Taven, it’s not a ‘kink’. It’s what’s normal. Growing into a man is normal, and it’s something to celebrate, not being upset over, or worry about.”

Taven finally nodded, somewhat reassured. After all, what reason would his master have for lying about such a thing? “Is celebrating birthdays a concubine-thing, too, Master?” He asked further. Taven remembered Serenity bragging about his master giving him presents, but he sure as hell had never heard of owners giving a shit about ordinary slaves’ birthdays.

“Not, really,” Nickel answered. “There’s no requirement to acknowledge your concubine’s birthday, but if a master wants to do a little something for his favorite in private… What business is it of anyone?” His master reached for his hand again. 

Nickel held it this time, caressing the inside of his wrist with his thumb, looking him in the eyes with such warmth. 

“Master?” Taven started, knowing very well that this night was an exception, but seeing the tender smile on his master’s lips… Maybe he dared.

“Yes?” Nickel said, squeezing his hand with an expectant expression.

Taven squeezed back. “Can I…? I mean, _May_ I, like… have ice cream _every_ year then?” 

Nickel’s face fell and his thumb ceased its stroking movement, but then he threw his head back and laughed.

\-----o0o-----

Roth was pleased as punch when he stuck the key in his door at nearly three o’ clock in the morning, as well as being somewhat inebriated. He’d had a great night.

He’d seen Nickel and Taven safely to their car around eleven, but Ms. Frost and he had remained until the staff had thrown them out a quarter past closing time. Or rather, _Evelyn_, and he had stayed until after closing time, as they were definitely on a first name basis now. 

Roth grinned as he stepped inside, fumbling for the light switch in the dark hallway. Evelyn Frost wasn’t as icy as her last name suggested. After a few drinks, her somewhat strict and proper exterior had cracked, and they’d talked and laughed. He’d tried to impress her with stories from his days as a private investigator, and she’d entertained him with anecdotes about clients who apparently were even more troublesome than he was. 

He’d had to be satisfied with a chaste peck on her cheek as he’d seen her to her door, though, but it was all right. He was reasonably sure there would be a second date. At least his plan was to do his best to take all her home decoration advice from now on, to make such a development more likely. This first date had already been worth the loss of his old couch.

Ah, he thought, in hindsight, moving was the best he could have done. It had inspired him to a ‘new start’, of sorts. When was the last time he’d even _wanted_ a second date? 

He finally found the light switch but jerked back in surprise when he turned and nearly tripped over a kneeling Silas right in front of him. “Jesus, boy,” he said. “What’re you hiding in the dark for?”

Silas shrank at his voice. “I’m sorry, Master. I was waiting for you.” He reached out to untie the laces of Roth’s shoes.

Roth nearly barked that he could damn well take off his own shoes, but he caught himself well in time. Patience, he reminded himself. With an almost audible sigh, he let Silas remove his shoes before telling him to get to his feet. 

Whatever annoyance he felt disappeared anyway as he got a good look at the boy. Silas was nearly falling asleep standing, dark circles under his eyes. Had he stayed awake all night? “You didn’t need to stay up,” he said. 

The boy only looked at him as if the mere thought of _not_ waiting up, kneeling by the door ready to serve the moment he stepped inside, was a totally inconceivable one. 

“Silas,” Roth said, allowing his voice some mild strictness. “From now on, your bedtime is at eleven, at the latest, regardless of when I come home. Before eleven you can meet me at the door, after eleven, I’ll see myself in. Unless I tell you differently, it’s a standing order. Is this clear?”

The little slave bowed. “Yes, Master.”

There, that had taken care of the ‘waiting up’-thing, and then he’d bring up this ‘taking his shoes off’-thing another day. Baby steps, Roth thought, that’s how you had to handle these things.

He went out into the kitchen to have some water before he went to bed, hoping to prevent a possible hangover, but stopped to look over the empty floor in surprise instead. Where the hell had all the boxes gone? He opened cupboards and pulled out drawers. Oh, everything was already neatly stowed away. Damn, the boy was quick, wasn’t he? It would have taken him ages to get to all of this. 

Evelyn would love Silas, that’s for sure. 

Roth poured himself a glass of water and turned to the boy who was right on his heels. “Good job, Silas,” he said, patting the boy’s shoulder and smiling at him. As with Taven, it seemed he had his work cut out for him if he was ever going to get an actual smile in return, but there was nevertheless no mistaking the happiness in the boy’s demeanor, and how he ever so slightly straightened in pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> And now, the promised link for Paxterhobber's drawing, is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/65765881). Again, thanks so much! :-) 
> 
> /Fran


	61. Star of Nails

Going down to the old stables, Taven was so excited he couldn’t even walk like a normal person. No, he had to half run, skip, and jump between the flagstones of the garden paths, to release the restless energy. 

He’d never known there were stables on the grounds. It wasn’t as readily visible from the house, or coming up the avenue, but it turned out not to be too hard to find. Once he’d passed the garage, it was the only other larger construction he could see. It had to be the right one.

Reaching the old building, Taven walked along the front, peering through dusty windows filled with cobweb and dead flies. There were no horses and the whole area was dead still and quiet, no slaves about either. The stables were clearly abandoned and in a state of serious disrepair, too, though he could tell they had once been grand. Maybe his master didn’t like horses, he thought, and had simply gotten rid of them. Taven was a bit disappointed; he’d never seen a real horse and had been curious about what they would be like.

He was brought out of his musings by the loud creak of a door opening farther down the building, a widely smiling Jonas peeking out. “You came!” he said. 

Jonas waved to Taven to come through the door, and he hurried to follow. Inside, Jonas had constructed a crude sitting area out of some old bales of hay that he’d covered in even older horse blankets. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They’re clean. I hoped you’d come, so, I washed them.” He grinned nervously. “For you. I- I mean for your clothes not to get dirty.”

Taven grinned back; it was nice of Jonas to think of that. He climbed on top and reclined against the makeshift backrest. It was a weird kind of seat, but not at all uncomfortable, and though the hall around them was huge, Jonas had chosen a cozy and intimate corner inside an old stall, perfect for another fun conversation. 

He could hardly retain his excitement. Taven wanted so badly to tell Jonas of learning about his birthday. It was such an amazing feeling, not only to have celebrated a birthday for the first time in his life, but also to have a friend to tell all about it. 

Jonas sat down beside him, but with a bit of distance between them. “I go here sometimes when I want to be alone,” he said. “There haven’t been horses on the estate since long before I was born, so no one ever comes here. Can’t stay long though, or Bruno will miss me, but I thought we could talk for just a few minutes. So, what’s up with you?” he asked.

This was his cue, but Taven surprised himself with hesitating. Maybe it wasn’t especially amazing, he knowing when his birthday was. Surely all the others were far less stupid and already knew what the number in their ear tag meant. However, the restaurant visit would still impress Jonas, right? “Oh, not much,” he said, trying to appear ‘cool’ and as if stuff like this happened to him all the time. “Master took me to a restaurant yesterday.”

“Really?” Jonas said, looking every bit as impressed as Taven had hoped. “You got to eat, too, or…?” 

“Yeah, he let me order whatever I wanted,” Taven said, straightening up in pride.

“Really?” Jonas repeated. “What did you have?”

Again, Taven hesitated. His master had laughed at his choice and told him you didn’t have ice cream for dinner. “Um, lasagna, you know, with eggplant.”

“Wow,” Jonas said; his perky brown eyes wide with amazement. “Your life is so… So… Going to a restaurant… I can’t even imagine.”

Taven felt bad. There was a fine line, he realized, between impressing Jonas, and making him feel inferior. The latter was the last Taven wanted. “It ain’t something that happens all the time, or anything,” he murmured, trying to downplay the whole thing. “It was an exception, only ‘cause it was my birthday.” 

“It was your birthday?” Jonas smiled widely. “Why didn’t you tell me? _Congratulations_!”

“Thanks,” Taven murmured shyly.

“So, how old are you?” Jonas asked. 

Of course he would be asked. Taven still hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact he was several years older than he’d thought he was, but it seemed a stupid thing to lie about. “Eighteen,” he admitted with a small sigh. 

“Oh, you’re older than I am,” Jonas said. “I turned seventeen this February. Funny, I always thought you were the youngest, I guess, ‘cause you’re, you know, smaller and- and p- p- prett…” Jonas cut himself short, blushed fiercely and looked away with a goofy grin. “I- I just always thought you were younger than me, that’s all.”

Taven had believed so too, and for the same reason. Jonas was so much taller, and in spite of his lankiness, looked almost like a grown, ‘real’, man. Taven blushed, too. 

“Anyway,” Jonas said. “I’ve never been to the city in my life, let alone a restaurant. Tell me more!” There was no mistaking the eagerness with which a simple slave, never allowed to leave his master’s property, asked to hear about the unknown world around him.

Taven brightened up, the awkward moment deflected. Here was something he could do for his new friend. As little as he knew of the city, it was still much more than Jonas knew. He’d tell him about the colorful lighted signs downtown at night, the busy streets, and the indoor rollercoaster at the mall.

\-----o0o-----

He could have stayed in the dusty old stables all day, but much too soon Jonas took advantage of a pause in their chat to inform him he had to go back. They reluctantly got off the comfortable ‘hay sofa’ and walked up the graveled path leading to the garage. However, twenty yards, or so, before, Jonas halted. “Um, could you…? Could you wait here for a moment? I’m just gonna… Wait here and I’ll be right back.” He grinned widely and ran off, disappearing into the garage.

Taven did as asked, wondering what was going on. It didn’t take long for Jonas to return, though, and he was carrying something. At Jonas’ urging Taven received this something in his hands, watching his new friend blush and grin. Ever more puzzled, Taven looked down at the mysterious object. It was wrapped in an old newspaper, was strangely heavy, and had these weird pointy bits sticking out. 

“It’s not much,” Jonas said, squirming before Taven, his eyes flittering in all directions. “It’s kind of a birthday present, I guess. Only I didn’t have proper wrapping paper, and… It’s nothing special,” he hurried to add when Taven started to unwrap it. “Really, it’s nothing special at all. Not like something you’d get from Master, so- so… So, if you don’t want it, I _totally_ understand, and…”

The newspaper fell to the ground and Taven held up the unwrapped object before him. He wasn’t any wiser as to what it actually was he was looking at, but it _was_ pretty. If forced to describe it, Taven would say it was a large star with no less than ten points, intricately crafted from… Taven looked closer. Was that nails? Yes, Taven saw now how the star consisted only of a large number of spikes and nails of different sizes, which accounted for its substantial weight. 

“Wow,” Taven said. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, I made it,” Jonas said, looking down at his foot scraping the gravel. 

“No way!” Taven blurted out. It was his turn to be impressed now. The pattern was so detailed, and the symmetry so perfect. No matter how you turned it, it was the same. “How?” he said. “How did you do that?” 

“It’s easy, really,” Jonas humbly stated. “I collect all this leftover trash from the garage, you know, nails, bolts and nuts, metal scrap, stuff like that, and then I just weld it together.” 

Taven was fascinated. He had trouble enough holding a pen, writing his own name, but Jonas could create things like this, by _hand_?

“You really wanna give it away?” he asked.

“Sure,” Jonas said. “I’ve got more. I’ve made plenty, though this is one of the biggest and best I’ve ever made, and… I want you to have it. You can hang it on the wall. That’s what I do. Just to look at, you know. Can’t really use it for anything, I guess.”

Taven couldn’t take his eyes away from it, this, his first real wrapped birthday present. “Thanks,” he managed, all choked up. 

“You… You like it?” Jonas asked; a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Taven said. “I like it a…”

“Jonas!”

They both jumped at the sudden roar from over at the garage. It was Bruno, and he didn’t look happy.

“Gotta go…” Jonas said, hurrying off. 

As soon as Jonas came within reach, he received a slap to his face so hard Taven jerked back at the cracking sound. 

“What did I tell you?” Bruno yelled.

Jonas didn’t answer, only hung his head and rubbed at his sore mouth with a shaking hand. 

“Get your ass inside!” Bruno shouted, and when Jonas speedily obeyed, he was ‘rewarded’ with a smack upside his head hard enough to send him stumbling over the threshold. Bruno walked in after him, but before he closed the door behind them, he looked down the graveled path and scowled deeply at Taven.

Taven remained, pressing the star of nails to his chest, heart pounding. Was Jonas being beaten in there? That wouldn’t be right. He hadn’t done anything. Angry and uneasy he turned on his heels and walked away. No matter how unfair it was, Taven was powerless to help. 

How the trusties handled the workers under them wasn’t any of his business, after all, and it wasn’t as if he could go to Nickel to complain about it. In this case, Taven was convinced, it would only make things worse.

\-----o0o-----

In the evening, Taven sat on the bed with the star of nails in his hands, a few of the points resting on his thighs, staring at it, turning it around. He didn’t know what to think or feel.

He couldn’t forget how nice his master had been, celebrating his birthday. Nickel had assured him he was wanted, trusted him so much he’d left the bit behind, and let him have more ice cream than he’d been able to eat, even though his master never allowed such bad food otherwise. 

Of course, it wouldn’t be a bother for Nickel to be nice, if he so wished. He was rich and powerful and spoiling his favorite at his own amusement would cost him nothing, but the fact remained. He didn’t need to be _this_ nice to a slave he owned, not even a concubine. No one demanded it of him, but he still was, even when he got little, or nothing, out of it for himself.

Jonas, on the other hand, he didn’t own anything, but had still given him what he must have spent hours creating with his own hands, and their friendship _could_ cost him. It had already cost him a split lip, at the very least. 

Taven was torn. Nickel and Jonas had both been so good to him, each in their own way, and he simply couldn’t decide which of these signs of affection meant the most to him. In the end, he had to laugh dryly at how absurd this really was. Who could have ever thought his biggest problem would one day be trying to decide which guy was the nicest to him.

His life had become so weird.

The heavy star started to press rather uncomfortably on his legs, and his master would be expecting him upstairs by now. Taven had to come to a decision of what to do with it. Jonas had suggested hanging it on the wall. He would have liked that, putting something up in here to decorate his room with, which was something he’d never done before, but… No, Taven didn’t want to explain this to his master. Obeying an impulse, he leaned over the edge and put the star under the bed. 

Yeah, Nickel didn’t need to see this.

\-----o0o-----

He heard it on the way back from a late night visit to the bathroom, muffled sobs from the guestroom where Silas slept. Quietly, he approached the door and listened. He’d known it. Silas’ stoic and stable appearance had seemed to too good to be true.

Roth didn’t know how he should handle it. He guessed he could simply go back to bed, and Silas would never know he’d heard him. In one way, it would probably be for the best. Going in there now, Silas might think he’d roused his master and he’d fear punishment, but it just didn’t seem right to leave a crying kid in his own miseries. 

He knocked, to make the boy aware of his presence, and opened the door to peek inside. What he saw didn’t surprise him in the least. Silas had quickly rolled off the mattress he slept on – he would have to get him a real bed soon – and into a kneeling position, his forehead pressed to the floorboards. He was trembling like a leaf, trying to stifle his weeping. 

Roth repressed an urge to simply shut the door again, utterly uncomfortable with the poor kid cowering in fear at his mere presence. He hadn’t forgotten the night he’d taken Silas from Swift’s apartment and had found him naked in his living room, thinking he would… He’d made sure the boy always slept in a pajama now. 

“It’s all right, boy,” he said softly. “You didn’t wake me, I was already up.”

Silas didn’t answer, he only shook, sniffled and swallowed.

“You okay?” Roth asked.

“Yes, Master,” came a shaky reply from the floor.

“You’re not… It’s not because you’re miserable here, is it?” 

Silas still knelt with his nose to the floor. “No, Master. No!”

“You had a bad dream then? Bad memories? You know, I’d never… I’d never hurt you, you do know that, don’t you?”

Silas sat up at this, and even looked up at him for a fleeting second before respectfully lowering his gaze again. ”I know, Master,” he said, wiping at his eyes with the backside of his hand.

“You do?”

“Yes, Master, Taven told me.”

Roth was surprised. “Taven? Really? What did he tell you?”

Silas hesitated. Maybe he thought he was talking too much, but Roth knew, for Silas, there was no option to answering a direct question. “Taven said you’re a good man, Master,” he started falteringly. “He said you don’t like doing things, like- like the things Master Swift did. He said if Master Nickel didn’t own him, he wish you did.”

Roth was stunned. He had noticed Taven at least tolerated him these days, and didn’t seem to be nearly as much on his guard around him anymore, but the fact Taven actually felt that way was very much news to him. Maybe he’d done something right, after all. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. He was touched; realizing a slave saying he wished a certain man owned him wasn’t an insignificant show of trust. 

“You _are_ safe here, Silas,” he assured the boy.

“Yes, Master,” Silas said. “I- I’m sorry for crying,” he added, hanging his head in shame.

“Aw, no, Silas, I was only hoping it wasn’t me who made you cry. I’m not demanding of you never to be sad.” 

Roth silenced, wondering if he should ask the boy if he wanted to talk about it, but soon thought better of it. Silas would, no doubt, interpret an offer to talk as an order, whether he was comfortable confiding in his ‘new master’ or not. He’d better not make a big affair of things, and try to distract the boy from his bad memories instead. 

“Hey,” he said. “Seeing as we’re both up anyway, how about you keep me company watching some late night TV?” 

“Yes, Master.” Silas sprang to his feet, eager to please as always, and followed him out into the living room. 

He had them both recline on the couch, switching the TV on as he fell back into the cushions, putting his feet up on the coffee table. According to Evelyn, the styling of his living room was far from completed, but at the arrival yesterday of the new couch, Roth had stopped caring about pretty much everything else in the entire apartment. He had to admit, Evelyn had been right in forcing him to throw out his old couch, and she’d done a damn good job picking out the new one. The new couch was a masculine dark gray piece of furniture that was as insanely comfortable as it was impressively huge and heavy. 

Roth fucking _loved_ it. 

They watched some stupid late night call in game show, which was the only thing that seemed to be on at… Roth checked the time, ten to four in the morning. Goodness. 

The little slave tried his best to keep his master company, as ‘ordered’, but it didn’t take long before he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. A few minutes later, his head sank against the armrest, and he was gone. Roth grinned; a warm, purring cat lying on his stomach probably didn’t make it easier for the boy to stay awake. 

Silas had been wary of the old cat at first, but his phobia didn’t seem quite as severe as Taven’s. It hadn’t taken him long to get over it. Cat and boy already seemed inseparable in a way that almost made Roth jealous. He watched them both with a tender smile, the cat purring away, kneading her paws against Silas’ chest. The boy didn’t notice, being sound asleep by now, his lose hair all over his face and his mouth half open. 

The fact Silas obviously felt safe enough to let sleep overtake him with a free man so close by spoke volumes of Taven’s influence. Roth sighed, sadness coming over him at the whole thing. If Silas had been his own kid, he would have eased his arms under the boy’s knees and shoulders and carried him back to bed, but… Well, Silas wasn’t. Such a move would only serve to let Silas wake up later to the shame of having fallen asleep and thus failing at the ‘assignment’ of keeping him company. Roth was about to fall asleep himself, but if he left now and let Silas wake up alone on the couch, the slave would, again, worry he’d done something wrong. 

Well, it wasn’t as if the couch wasn’t at least as comfortable as his bed, and there was plenty of room. Better let Silas think they had both nodded off at the same time. Roth switched the TV off, stretched out at the free end, and closed his eyes. Dealing with slaves wasn’t easy, he thought, at least not if you actually cared. You didn’t care… Well, then it was probably the easiest thing in the world. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t always uncomplicated living with _anyone_, really. He’d simply been on his own for far too long, it was probably good for him to bother with another human being. Still, the kid shouldn’t be isolated with him. Tomorrow, he’d take Silas out to the mansion, he thought, and let him spend some time with Taven and the other slaves. 

Roth dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	62. What’s in a Name?

Nickel looked back and forth between Taven and Silas, amused at the silent interaction that seemed to be going on between them.

Though fall was fast approaching, the summer heat still lingered, and at Roth visiting, Nickel had ordered a tray of iced lemonade out onto a smaller patio at the back of the mansion. Taven, who by now was used to the informal manners Nickel allowed him in private, had sat down unbidden on one of the cast iron garden chairs around the matching table, while Silas, true to his training, had moved to stand at attention behind Roth’s chair. 

Both boys were now staring at each other, probably wondering who was doing this wrong. Taven caved in first, giving his master an insecure and questioning look while starting to get up from the chair again. 

Nickel took pity on them. “Sit back down,” he said to Taven, before turning to Silas. “Silas, when it’s only Mr. Roth and I, you may follow the concubine’s example. Sit down with Taven!”

Not until now did Roth seem to notice there was a miniature crisis playing out around him. 

“Uh,” he said, looking around for Silas. “Yeah, please don’t hover behind me, Silas. Just go sit down!” 

While Nickel watched the boy obey in silence and shyly sitting down close to Taven, Roth turned to him. “Who came up with this anyway?” he asked, frowning.

“Came up with what?” Nickel asked.

“This! Having slaves following you, creeping behind your back, not making a sound... Believe me; I’ve followed enough people in my days not to need that kind of stalking myself, thank you very much.”

Nickel grinned at his friend’s exaggerations. Having a slave attend you was of course nothing like being followed, or stalked. He shrugged. “It’s a cultural practice, it evolves; no one ‘invented’ it.”

They helped themselves to the pitcher of lemonade. All except Silas, who didn’t seem to dare assume the fourth glass was for him until Nickel encouraged him with a smile and a discreet nod, letting him know he was still allowed to follow the concubine’s example. 

Roth was further oblivious of his little slave’s discomfort, Nickel noticed. “Yeah? It’s still stupid,” he muttered before seemingly changing mood completely, giving Taven a friendly smile across the table. “So, learned anything fun in class today?” 

Taven raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glass, seemingly as surprised as Nickel was about Roth’s sudden interest in his education, but he readily hopped on the conversation train. “Master showed me something about…” He frowned, looking as if he tried hard to remember. “Something about- about… Tables and periods? I didn’t get a fu… I didn’t get a thing.” 

Nickel chuckled.

Roth looked puzzled. “Tables and periods…? Oh, the periodic table?” He gave up a chuckle, too. 

“Yeah,” Taven said. “I only asked what atoms were.” He sighed with an exasperated look on his face.

Nickel put the glass to his lips and tried to hide his amusement. Evidently, Taven hadn’t grasped it. He would have to approach the subject again on another day, in a much simpler manner, or the boy might stop asking questions altogether for fear of another, apparently, confusing lecture.

“Got me thinking, though,” he continued, turning to his master now instead of Roth.

“Yes?” Nickel encouraged, happy about anything that got Taven to start thinking. 

“Well, there was, like, metals on that list, right, metals and gases and shit?”

“Elements, yes,” Nickel confirmed. 

“But, _your_ name was on it, too, Master, and it’s a _metal_. Why are you named like a metal?”

“Yeah,” Roth cut in. “The boy’s on to something. Why _are_ you named after number twenty eight of the periodic table?”

Nickel put his glass down in sheer surprise. “You know the periodic table _by heart_?”

Roth grinned. “It’s not the coolest of party tricks, but… Seriously, though, Taven isn’t the only one who’s curious. I have to confess, in the beginning I mused over it a few times, wondering what the hell your parents were thinking. Well, but it’s kind of a personal question to ask your new boss, and then I simply got used to it and kept forgetting to bring it up.”

“I see.” Nickel smiled. He was neither hurt, nor offended. His name _was_ unusual, and he could hardly blame people for reacting to it, even if they were too polite to ask. “Well, it’s rather a silly story,” he tried, embarrassed. “Not interesting at all, really.”

“Oh, come on,” Roth cajoled. “You’re among friends here, you can tell us.”

“Well, all right,” Nickel said, thinking the good-natured teasing he might expect from Roth wouldn’t at all be the same as the taunts he’d sometimes endured on the schoolyard. “It’s not really the metal I’m named after, other than in a transferred sense. It was my mother’s fault. Pregnant with her first child, my mother hoped for a girl. She wanted to name her Penelope, Penny for short, and it’s what she nicknamed her growing belly: Penny. But when I arrived, she joked instead of a ‘penny’ she’d gotten a ‘nickel’.” 

“Uh? Oh… _Oh_!” Roth said, chuckling. 

Taven listened to their conversation closely, Nickel could tell, but with a deep, confused, frown. It was an expression he was familiar with; the boy didn’t get it.

“It’s a play on words, Taven,” he explained. ‘Penny’ is a girl’s name, but it’s also a type of coin, as is a ‘nickel’. My mother simply changed the nickname to a more masculine sounding coin when she realized I wasn’t a girl. It was only the joke stuck to such an extent, when it was time my parents actually turned it into my real name.”

Taven didn’t let up on the deep frown. “Making a joke of it… That ain’t right, Master,” he said. “You’re a _lord_, and- and… That’s how Master Constantine names his slaves.”

Nickel frowned in return. “It’s not at all the same thing,” he protested. “A slave’s name is never a real name, no matter what it is. They have no legal right to it, and it can be changed at the discretion of their owner at any time. _My_ name is legal, even if it’s a word not commonly considered a name, and it can’t be changed by anyone but myself. It is _not_ a slave name, boy.”

Taven bit his lower lip at his master’s sharp reprimand, hanging his head, and Nickel regretted his harshness at the sight. Surely, Taven hadn’t meant to insult him. 

“Well,” Roth cut in.”I for one think it’s hilarious one of the wealthiest men in the country is named after small change.” 

Nickel laughed. “There’s certain irony to that; isn’t there?” 

They turned to small talking about this and that, while Nickel kept an eye on Taven. The boy didn’t seem to have taken his master’s words too hard, after all, him and Silas leaning their heads together, whispering to each other. Finally, Taven nodded, and seemed to wait for a pause in their conversation.

“Mr. Roth,” Taven spoke up. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Roth said, raising an amused eyebrow. 

“Well, um,” Taven started, looking at Silas, who had pushed the chair back and was nearly hiding behind his friend, intently staring at the half-finished glass of lemonade in his hands. “What’s _your_ name, Mr. Roth?”

“_My_ name? Uh…”

Of course, Nickel thought, wondering why he himself hadn’t thought of asking when the subject was brought up. The biggest mystery here, after all, wasn’t the story behind his unusual given name, but what Roth’s given name _was_. “Yes,” he said. “That’s the question, isn’t it? What exactly _is_ your given name, Roth?”

Roth’s ears very uncharacteristically turned red. “Uh… Oh, you know that, Nickel,” he said, trying to dismiss the question with a wave of his hand. “Now, what was it you were saying about…?”

“No, no, no,” Nickel grinned. “You’re not getting out of this one. You know very well, you’ve never mentioned your first name to me, or anyone we know. You didn’t even put your full name on the job application. I remember that clearly. Don’t you think I used to wonder, too? Yes, I was too polite to ask, as well. I too got so used to it I stopped thinking of asking, but I _am_ asking now. Come on, Roth, you have to admit, after four years of friendship, it’s not right to not let me know.”

Roth squirmed and looked distressed, finally turning to Taven with an annoyed frown. “You just _had_ to put your freckled nose in it, didn’t you?” he said. 

Taven pouted, looking miffed, probably thinking he was constantly and unfairly reprimanded today, but Silas reaction was stronger. The poor boy looked so scared it was a wonder he didn’t get off the chair to kneel down on the patio, begging them for forgiveness. It was evident the question had really been his, though he hadn’t had the courage to speak up himself. It was likewise evident Roth saw, and understood this, too.

“Are you saying you want them punished for their impertinence?” Nickel asked, feigning shock. 

Taven opened his mouth as if to protest, but Silas paled and shook. 

“No!” Roth said. “For goodness sake, Nickel.” He sighed deeply. “All right, you win, I’ll tell you. And I’m not angry with you boys,” he added. “Silas, you did nothing wrong, you hear?” 

Nickel smiled. “How bad can it be?” he said. “I can’t imagine it’s weirder than my name?”

Roth sighed again. “It’s not that it’s weird per se,” he said. “I mean, each part in itself is fairly normal, I guess, but the combination is… Well…”

“Combination?” Nickel echoed, confused. “There are parts to it?”

“Yes, damn it!” Roth growled. “My whole upbringing I’ve had to explain it’s not actually one given name with a series of middle names following, but that the whole damn thing _is_ my given name. In every official situation, I’ve had to explain it. Every damn school assembly I had to listen to that fucking litany of names at roll call, the other kids snickering behind me.”

“But, what on earth _is_ it?” Nickel prodded. By now, he was so curious he was about to burst.

Roth groaned. “Johann…” he started. “Alexander… Cornelius, Maximilian… Roth,” he finished with a defeated sigh. 

Nickel couldn’t help it; he was gaping like a fish. “You’re pulling my leg,” he managed.

“Believe me, I so fucking wish I was.”

“_All_ of that is your actual given name? All four of those, uh, grand, names in one go?” 

“Yes, that’s what I said, didn’t I? That’s my given name, and I don’t have any middle names. My mom was damn persistent this should be acknowledged everywhere.”

Laughter bubbled up within Nickel and trying to stop it proved to be fighting a losing battle. “Oh my God,” he blurted out. “What on earth were _your_ parents thinking?”

“Yeah, ask my mom, this is her fault, too. Ah, what can I say?” Roth threw his hands up. “She meant well, you know. Growing up under humble conditions, reading all those gossip magazines, chock full of royalty and clan members… She had such high hopes for me when I was born; convinced I’d make something of myself one day, and, well… She might have thought an aristocratic sounding name would sort of inspire me to great things, or something. My mom’s just a simple undereducated working class woman. What did she know of aristocratic naming conventions? She didn’t understand how utterly ridiculous the combination was.”

Nickel stopped laughing. “I understand,” he said. “I… I apologize. I didn’t mean to mock her dreams.”

“It’s okay,” Roth said. “I would have laughed, too.”

“No,” Nickel persisted. “It’s not okay. At least _your_ mother cares about you.”

Roth knew about his mother, and it was clear from the bodyguard’s ill-concealed consternated expression his friend didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Though it sure is a mouthful,” Nickel hurried to resume, trying to deflect the awkward moment he’d caused. “Does your family really always call you by your full name?” 

“No, of course they don’t, that wouldn’t be practical, would it? They call me… Well, they call me ‘Max’, and so did my ex wife,” Roth admitted with another sigh. 

Nickel couldn’t help how his smile widened. In his mind, ‘Max’ didn’t fit Roth better than the full name. “What did you tell Ms. Frost? You _are_ on a first name basis by now, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, of course we are. Um, I told her my name is ‘Alex’, but, well, uh… yeah, I guess have to tell her the whole truth, as well, one of these days.” 

Again, Roth looked embarrassed, and Nickel could just imagine his dilemma, trying to choose an element from his fancy quadruple name he was comfortable sharing with a first date. 

“There you go,” Nickel tried an encouraging smile. “I have to admit, ‘Alex’ fits you much better than ‘Max’. What about your friends and classmates, what did everybody call you growing up?”

“’Roth’!” Roth said, his eyes darkening just a tad. “At least if they knew what was good for them, they did. I’d appreciate if you’d keep to calling me that, too.”

“Yikes!” Nickel grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, Roth. I’m so used to calling you by your surname only; to me, it _is_ your given name. I don’t think I _could_ get used to anything else.”

“Thanks,” Roth said. “And I’m _Mister_ Roth to you,” he added, turning to the boys at the other side of the table with a finger raised in warning. “You two never heard this conversation, understand?”

“Sheesh, _I_ wasn’t laughing,” Taven muttered under his breath, but he added a sulky ‘yes, sir’.

“Yes, Master,” Silas squeaked.

\-----o0o-----

Having finished their lemonade, they split up. Nickel excused himself first, having paperwork to attend to. Roth was planning to use the gym, sending Silas down to the kitchens in the meantime, and Taven walked out into the gardens. However, Roth didn’t go straight to the gym, he went to catch up with Taven instead.

“Hey, Taven, wait up,” he called out. “I want to talk with you.”

Taven halted and turned around, looking more than a little suspicious.

“Don’t look so worried,” Roth said. “I just need your advice, that’s all.”

Taven stared. “Advice? From me? What about?”

“About Silas,” Roth said. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about giving Silas a haircut, what do you think he’d think about that?”

Taven’s eyes widened. “What? Why? Why would you do that? Y- you can’t!” 

Roth frowned. “Why not?” he protested. “I don’t like it. I don’t want him to… I mean… For fuck’s sake, Taven, why would they make _kids_ look like that?”

Taven stared at him as if he wondered what planet he was from. “’Cause- ‘cause some people like that.”

“Yeah, that’s my fucking point.” Roth said. “Silas is way the hell too young to be made to attract that kind of attention. Besides, isn’t it just a complete hassle? I’d go fucking nuts if I had to take care of that much hair all the time. I can’t imagine anything more impractical.”

“It ain’t about that, Mr. Roth,” Taven argued. “It ain’t about practical stuff. You cut his hair; he’d be nothing. He’d not be an exotic anymore. It’d, like, cut his worth in half.”

Roth started to get as frustrated with Taven’s inability to see his point, as Taven obviously was with his. “But, that’s not true, boy. Silas is a great kid, I can’t believe as much as half his worth would be in his hair. His market value isn’t important in any case, because he’ll never end up there again. It’s just not true he’d be nothing without that braid. He’d certainly not be ‘nothing’ to me.” He paused “…and neither would you,” he added, not wanting Taven to think this only applied to Silas. “Your worth isn’t because of that exotic classification. Not to us.”

“That ain’t true,” Taven muttered. “Master sure wouldn’t want me anymore.” 

“You really think he’d discard you if…?” Roth shook his head. “Taven, look, I’m not gonna lie to you. Your master _does_ have this kind of… fetish, I guess, when it comes to long hair, no doubt about it. I bet only looking at those glorious tresses of yours, makes him go weak at the knees, but you have to give the man a bit more credit than that. You know he used to have a crush on Serenity, right?”

Taven nodded, still frowning.

“Yeah, think about it,” Roth pushed. “Serenity doesn’t have your long hair, but your master still liked him, didn’t he? Just think about how he gave Silas away, too. Even with hair as long as his, he didn’t want him.”

Taven looked up at him, eyes widening, in understanding Roth hoped.

“You’re more to Nickel than your hair, boy.” Roth went on. “He might mourn it if you lost it, but he’d never discard you over it. Believe me, I know him that well.”

Taven still didn’t answer, seemingly trying to process this. 

“I’d prefer if Silas looked like a normal kid, that’s all,” Roth said, getting back to the question at hand. “But I don’t want to decide this for him. Getting a haircut against your will… That could get kinda traumatic. Right? If he understands this is what I want, though, he’ll never be honest about what _he_ wants, know what I mean? I thought you, if anyone, could tell me how important the hair really is to your… kind.”

Taven nodded. “It’s like this, Mr. Roth,” he said. “You make Silas believe you ain’t ever gonna abandon him, I think he’d be cool with a haircut. He ain’t gonna need it then.”

“I see, making him believe that… That’s not as easy as it sounds, right?”

Taven shook his head, his gray eyes very serious. 

“Okay,” Roth said. “Thanks, Taven, I think I understand this better now. I won’t pressure him, and I’ll give him all the time he needs.” He gave Taven a big smile. “You’re a smart kid, you know that?”

The boy’s astonished expression told Roth, no, Taven did, in fact, not know this. 

“Hey, wanna come with me to the gym?” he asked. “When did you have a proper go at that poor punching bag last, eh?”

Roth was rewarded with the tiniest hint of a smile on Taven’s brooding face. 

“Okay, Mr. Roth,” he agreed.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel held on to the headboard above his head.

Taven was kneeling on the bed, his loose hair flowing over his back, covering up his nudity almost completely. He looked down on the top of Taven’s head bobbing up and down between his parted legs. Nickel really had to concentrate not to put his hands on that head, twisting his fingers in the soft hair, directing the movements, just a little bit.

It was something he’d rather not let his thoughts linger on, but he knew Taven would have bad experiences with people physically forcing him to do this, and the last he wanted was to trigger such a memory while Taven was actually sucking him off. As usual, Nickel kept his fingers to himself and let Taven set the pace. 

He didn’t need to instruct Taven in any case. His concubine was oh so good at this, making him moan loudly as the slave’s tongue swirled expertly around the tip of his cock, which almost distracted him completely from his bad conscience about letting Taven do this at all. 

This was all for him, and only for him, Nickel knew, but he still hadn’t been able to resist. 

Taven hadn’t really been up to it tonight, Nickel thought. Well, it wasn’t as if his concubine had said no to him, oh no, quite the opposite. However, if Nickel would be honest with himself, it had been rather obvious to him how Taven had tried to distract his master from penetrative sex with the offer of this blowjob. 

Nickel wasn’t taking it personally. Sometimes you would simply not be in the mood, it was perfectly normal, after all, and would say nothing about someone’s devotion to their sexual partner. Besides, Taven might have many reasons not to be in the mood on occasion, reasons that had nothing to do with him. The other night, for example, he’d, once again, wet the bed. It didn’t matter what Nickel said, or how he tried to downplay it. Whenever that happened, Taven was deeply ashamed and trapped in crippling self-loathing. It wouldn’t be strange, Nickel supposed, if Taven wouldn’t be in the mood for sex even days later. 

Yes, Nickel understood, and if Taven had told him no with such an explanation, he would have readily accepted. It was, after all, what this particular privilege was designed for, the right to ‘have a bad night’. Still, the slave hadn’t used this out. Nickel should have given Taven the out anyway, he thought, and he shouldn’t have let the boy chose an option that tonight must only feel like ‘a lesser evil’, but…

Taven had slid up against him in bed, his gray eyes so wide and begging, his lips seductively parted, and damn, he’d smelled so good, his hair so soft between Nickel’s fingers… The boy just drove him almost mad with lust, what could he do? He’d let Taven pull his pajama pants off and settle between his legs.

He would keep his hands out of the way, but how could he have resisted this at all? Next time, Nickel told himself. Next time he noticed Taven doing something like this; then he’d stop it, and talk to him instead. 

Next time.

\-----o0o-----

“Master?” Taven spoke softly close to his ear in the darkness, bare chest against his back.

“Yes?” Nickel murmured, half asleep already.

“I wanna say I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Nickel asked, turning his head. After the blowjob Taven had just given him, he couldn’t imagine what the boy could possibly be sorry for.

“For- for what I said this morning, about your name. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Oh.” Nickel turned around fully. “I know, boy, don’t worry about it. You misunderstood, and I merely explained the difference. It might have come out a bit harsh, but I wasn’t really angry with you.”

“Is it true,” Taven asked. “A slave’s name is never real and can never be legal?” 

“Yes, it’s true, I’m afraid,” Nickel confirmed.

“Ain’t there an old name in my papers, like my birthday?”

“No, you don’t quite understand. A name isn’t part of a slave’s official papers since it has no relevance in a sale. Knowing how old slaves are is usually of more importance to a prospective buyer, and that’s why it’s in there. I’m sorry; if someone called you something when you were little there was no need to put it in your papers. There’s nothing there.”

“But a concubine contract is different?” Taven asked. 

Nickel winced. He’d hoped Taven wouldn’t notice, or understand. Going through the contract with the boy, he’d done his best to distract him from it. “What do you mean?” he asked, stalling. 

“There are places in the text, where it says stuff like, ‘the concubine known as…’ and then there’s a blank space. Is that for the name?”

He could lie, and tell Taven the blank space was meant for the registration number, but… No, it wouldn’t be right. “Yes,” he admitted. “The concubine’s name is supposed to be filled in.”

“Does that make it legal then?” Taven asked, hope in his voice. 

Nickel sighed. “No, I’m sorry, it doesn’t. It only means the clan acknowledges a name, it doesn’t make it protected by law.”

“Oh.” 

Taven was silent for quite a few heartbeats, but Nickel didn’t turn back to go to sleep, he knew this conversation wasn’t over. 

“Master, why were those spaces in the contract still blank then? It didn’t say ‘Taven’, it didn’t say anything.” 

Nickel steeled himself. “Taven, listen to me. My father, he… He’s forbidden me to use my brother’s name for you, in any capacity.”

“But- but you still call me ‘Taven’,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I do, yes, in private I do, but it _is_ in blatant defiance of my father’s wishes, I’m afraid.”

Taven turned on his back and stared up into the canopy. “So, out there, I- I’m nameless again?” he asked, his voice small and shaky. “I’m nothing again?”

“Of course you’re not nothing,” Nickel said.

“I _am_!” Taven protested, and though it was too dark to see the tears, Nickel could hear in his voice they were there. “You got no name; you’re nothing, just a fucking blank, like on the contract.”

“That’s not, true,” Nickel maintained. 

“You- you’re gonna give me another name, then?”

“Would that be all right with you?” Nickel asked.

“No!” Taven half-yelled into the darkness. There was no mistaking it any longer, he was crying. 

“I have no desire to either,” Nickel assured him, “not at all. This might be simple in the eyes of the law, but it’s not a simple matter to me. Please don’t think it is, boy. It might have started with you borrowing my brother’s name, but it stopped being the case a long time ago. You’re not borrowing anything anymore. You’re _another_ ‘Taven’ now. Do you think of yourself in this way, too?”

“Yes!” Taven cried. “_Please_, don’t take it away.”

“I’m not going to,” Nickel promised, putting an arm around Taven and pulling him closer, caressing him over the head, trying to comfort him. “I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to, how could I think of you in any other way? How could I make _you_ think of yourself in any other way? No, I won’t, but we have to keep it as private as possible, you understand? My father simply won’t allow it’s spoken out loud in connection to you in any public situation, or anywhere he could hear it.”

Taven sobbed in his arms. “Is this punishment, Master, for- for what I yelled at him in the gardens?”

“No,” Nickel said. He sighed. “How can I explain this…? When my brother died, it was a horrific blow for my father. The grief nearly broke him, and it’s something he still struggles with. Hearing his lost child’s name spoken again in this house, it brings up a lot of sadness for him.”

Again, Taven was silent, his sobs slowly decreasing. “Oh,” he finally said, still sniffing a little. “I… I kinda get that, Master.” 

However, Taven pulled out of his arms and bolted up beside him. “Why’d you do that then, Master?” he said, the sympathy, before so evident in his voice, now gone. “Why’d you give me that name if you knew your dad was gonna freak out about it? You _knew_ you was gonna have to take it back, and you still gave it to me?” 

Nickel sat up as well. “No, that’s not true. It might have been a rash decision, but I certainly didn’t knowingly give you a name you weren’t going to be allowed to keep, and I never meant to hurt my father. You don’t know my brother. Could we contact him, wherever his soul is, he would have given his name to you in a heartbeat. My father might try his best to forget, but I can’t _stand_ this silence around him, as if he never even existed. _I_ wanted to hear his name spoken again in this house.”

Taven had turned to nothing but a silent presence in the dark room. 

Nickel reached out and cupped his cheek with another deep sigh. “I’m sorry I caused you pain, it wasn’t my intention. As I said, it’s too late anyway, you _are_ another Taven to me now, not some kind of living memorial to my brother, and you’re Taven to anyone else close to us, as well. As long as you’re also Taven to yourself, I’m most certainly not going to force another name on you, but we need to keep it private. Do you understand?”

Taven nodded into his hand. “Yes, Master,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	63. Secrets

“Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?” Roth asked, peeking inside Nickel’s TV den.

“No, no,” Nickel said, holding up the book he’d been reading. “I finished this days ago. I was only flipping through it now. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

Roth had only meant to say he was leaving. He’d spent all morning in the city with Nickel, and another hour and a half in the gym, but now he was looking forward to going home. He had a date with Evelyn and wanted plenty of time to ‘get in the mood’. However, Roth knew that troubled look. Something was bothering his boss. 

For a moment, he fought with himself. It would be easy pretending he hadn’t noticed, say ‘see you later, call me if you need something,’ and slip out, but… 

He walked inside and sat down next to Nickel on the couch. “Interesting read?” he asked.

There was an odd expression on Nickel’s face. “I guess you could say so. Do you remember all those flyers and brochures you gave me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Roth answered. 

“Well, I did as you suggested. I read through them, and chose a group to make a donation to.”

Roth raised an eyebrow. Well, what do you know, he thought.

“Then, a few days ago, they sent me this book.”

“Oh.” Roth had only meant to small talk about Nickel’s reading material to get a conversation going, but it seemed it was actually the book that was bothering him. “They sent that? So, what’s it about?” 

“It’s the history of slavery in this country.” Nickel said, frowning at the book. 

“Really?” Roth thought about it. He couldn’t recall they had ever brought up this particular piece of history in class when he was a schoolboy. If they had it must have been brief, and he’d long since forgotten. “Did they teach that in your school?” he asked. “I can’t remember they did in mine.”

“I don’t think they did, no,” Nickel agreed.

“That’s weird,” Roth remarked. “What is it about it that’s so controversial they don’t teach it?” 

Nickel frowned deeper. “The actual origin, I’d say, at least if you’re to believe this book.”

“Huh,” Roth said. Here was something he’d never really thought about. “Hasn’t it, like, just always existed? Or, I mean, yeah, of course, everything has a beginning, but I’ve always thought it was so far back in time, it wasn’t, you know, known.”

“I’ve always been under the same impression,” Nickel admitted. “But according to this, it’s not the case. That is to say, the _actual_ origin _is_ lost in prewritten history, but that isn’t the origin of the slavery existing today. It seems some seven hundred years ago slavery was actually abolished here.”

“Really? How did that come about?” 

“It’s not fully known,” Nickel answered. “What historians think happened is there was an economic decline in which a large number of landowners simply could no longer afford to keep slaves. At the time, most landowners were smaller, independent farmers. Nobility owning large lands with several farms under them didn’t really exist.”

“This was before the clans?” Roth asked.

“Yes,” Nickel confirmed. “Long before. Well, beside craftsmen and merchants, these numerous farmers were the backbone of the economy. Most of them had slaves working their lands. Then, after a long row of harsh winters and bad summers, the population was starving. Feeding slaves while they waited for better times was something most people weren’t prepared to do. Slaves were kicked out in droves to fend for themselves. To have a chance at surviving the discarded slaves banded together, turned to crime, stealing and murdering for food, and it wasn’t long until these roving bands became a serious problem. 

“Free citizens demanded a swift solution, to which the ruling king obliged. The book says there was a literal hunt on these slaves and they were largely killed. However, the king wanted a long-term solution to the problem, as well, so he simply abolished slavery. Now, citizens were no longer able to acquire new slaves they’d keep in good times only to discard them in bad.”

“That’s actually a remarkably simple solution,” Roth said. 

“I suppose it is,” Nickel agreed. 

“Didn’t the farmers protest this? I mean, when times got better again?” 

“They might have, the book doesn’t say. It might not be known how the new law was perceived, but what we do know, according to this, is that slavery was not an existing practice in this country for almost two hundred years. It was probably also a factor that around this time the country was split in several warring parties, which lead to a forming nobility and eventually the birth of another united kingdom, they were busy with other things, as it were.”

“Huh, who knew?” Roth said. “Didn’t exist for almost two hundred years…? You think they don’t teach people this because the government is afraid it’ll trickle down to the slaves?” he asked. “I mean; maybe they’d get ideas, you know; if they realized it hasn’t in fact always existed. Better let them believe it’s some kind of natural law no one can do anything about.”

Nickel didn’t answer, only looked down at the closed book in his hands. Maybe, Roth thought, that’s what he’d believed, too.

“So, why was it reinstated, then?” Roth asked, hoping to get Nickel talking again. 

“Ironically, for the same reason,” Nickel answered. “There was another long and steep economic decline.”

“Ah, yeah,” Roth cut in. “I know that one, The Great Depression of the fifteen hundreds, right? I do remember _that_ from school.”

Nickel nodded. “Yes, so do I, but it’s very curious how they seemed to have failed to mention it was the actual reason for the reinstatement of slavery.” 

“How?” Roth asked.

“Well, the causes for the depression in itself are many and complicated, but how it ties into slavery has to do with how much society on the whole had changed since the last time around. Some two hundred years later, the country is again united, and there is now, as I said, a wealthy class of nobility owning larger pieces of land than anyone else had ever done before. There is now also a large landless working class. When the depression hit, the majority of the population no longer had their own land on which to wait for better times, while the nobility could afford to wait it out. Well, so this time it was hordes of _free_ people that roamed the country, looking for work and food. Again, desperate people turned to crime, and again the ruling king had a large problem on his hands the higher classes demanded a swift solution to.” 

“He made slaves of them?”

“No,” Nickel said. “I hardly think they could have gotten away with simply hunting down free citizens to enslave them, not so openly. No, it wasn’t what happened, though it was still gruesome enough, according to the book.”

“There was another hunt?” Roth asked with a wince.

“Yes. To get to as many as possible, vagrant laws were instituted. Being unemployed and homeless was now a crime in itself, and the prisons were soon filled to the brim with people apprehended only for roaming the land. The ones thought guilty of additional crimes were swiftly dealt with, and for years there was a horrifically large number of beheadings and hangings, every day.” 

Roth shuddered. “Grisly,” he said. 

“You can say that,” Nickel agreed. “However, this was how they dealt with the adults, the children were viewed differently. It was probably a progressive idea for its time, that the children of these people were considered innocent and worthy of saving. So, a large number of kids, fifteen years of age or below, orphaned by starvation and hangmen, were rounded up in an attempt to make ‘decent citizens’ out of them again.”

“By _enslaving_ them?” Roth said.

“No,” Nickel repeated. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again. It was more complicated than that. The king offered these children to people with certain economic stability, and that was almost always the landowning nobility.”

“Ah, I see,” Roth said. “And just so I understand this correctly. When you say ‘landowning nobility’, you _are_ talking about the clans, right?”

Nickel looked away. “Yes,” he said. “But the intent wasn’t to keep these children as slaves.”

“What _was_ the intent then?” Roth pushed. 

“The intent was to give them a stable home,” Nickel answered. “Yes, they were worked hard at an early age for no pay, but in return they were supposed to have food, clothing, and be taught skills to sustain themselves. They were supposed to be set free at twenty-one, with contributions toward starting an independent life.”

“It didn’t happen?”

Nickel sighed. “Eventually, no it didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I can just imagine,” Roth said, his tone harsher than he’d intended. “So, you were this landowning lord in the fifteen hundreds, the depression being a fact, and, yeah, you’d survive, but you still had to be more frugal than before. When the monarchy just dropped all this free labor in your lap, you’d be mad not to grab at the chance, right? Sure, it wasn’t entirely free. You had to give those kids a decent life, teach them a profession, and send them off with a purse full of coin, but… Times were harsh and it was everyone for themselves, who would even notice if you skimped a bit on those things, and then skimped a little more. Soon the labor _would_ pretty much be free. In fact, you’d realize soon enough that no one would give a shit if you treated those kids any way you wanted to. I mean, they were orphans, no parents to complain if you half starved them, beat them, or played around with them a bit in the dark, before kicking them out penniless. 

“Then you’d start feeling entitled to these kids on the whole. You’d wonder why you had to let them go at all. I mean, at twenty-one they would have just grown into strong men and women, instead of those weak little kids from before. Now is when they could really be of use to you, after all, and actually put in some hard work. Having to let them go, when you’ve fed and clothed them for years already, it’s simply not _fair_, is it?”

Roth paused before the ‘final blow’. “So, you’d use your influence to make little changes here, and little changes there and… Bam! Before anyone realized what was happening, actual legal slavery was reinstated.”

Again, Nickel looked away. He didn’t answer. 

“Was I close?” Roth asked.

“Yes,” Nickel muttered. “It’s not how they phrased it in the book, but it _is_ how it happened, or so they claim.”

“You don’t believe it?” Roth asked. It sounded more than likely to him, but he supposed there was a possibility it was all anti-slavery propaganda.

“No, I don’t doubt the truth of it,” Nickel said. “It’s all presented very logically and seems to be well researched with plenty of references to historical documentation. It’s not that.”

“It disturbs you, the way it happened?” Roth asked. Thinking he wouldn’t have felt very good if he’d found out his ancestors had pretty much kidnapped a bunch of kids from the rest of the population and taken advantage of their helplessness to gradually strip them of all human rights. 

“Of course it does,” Nickel said. “But what on earth am I to do with this information? It was five hundred years ago. _I_ haven’t robbed anyone of their freedom. No one has ever been _made_ a slave since, they’re all born one. It doesn’t matter how it started, I still have to manage the estate as it is today, haven’t I?”

You could do what your ancestors never did, Roth thought, but didn’t say it aloud. 

“It’s out of my hands, anyway,” Nickel continued, as if he had read Roth’s thoughts. “According to the book, the clans have ‘painted themselves into a corner’ with this. Throughout the rest of the country’s development into a modern society we have fought to preserve our wealth, our influence, and our way of life, and we have been ‘surprisingly good’ at it. It’s only because of us this practice persists at all, the book claims. However, since we’ve pressured the government through the ages to get to ‘have our ways’, we’ve also forced them to deal with slavery as best as they can, in spite of the fact that for decades now the government and the king alike have wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. Ironically, it means, we’re now restricted to _keeping_ to the practice, even if we _would_ like to change.” 

“Uh, I don’t get it,” Roth said. “The clans _have_ to be slave owners?”

“Well, no, of course a free individual can’t be forced to own a slave, but the restrictions around freeing slaves are such that a clan setting their entire slave population free would be practically impossible.”

Roth nodded. He was aware of some of these restrictions, and though he was sure a few slaves at the Wren Mansion would qualify, Nickel wouldn’t stand a chance of getting an application for freedom approved for the vast majority of them. 

“I still don’t get it,” Roth said. “The government secretly wants to abolish slavery?”

“According to the book, yes,” Nickel confirmed.

“Uh, why don’t they do that then? It worked just fine seven hundred years ago.” 

“Because,” Nickel said, impatience in his voice, “seven hundred years ago they didn’t have to keep a powerful class of wealthy aristocrats happy. Besides, they might not have the schools teaching this history, but they _are_ aware of it, and they fear it will repeat itself. They think freeing that many slaves at the same time would cause a social upheaval too severe to deal with, and this isn’t the fifteenth hundreds, where they could ‘fix things’ by an open hunt on what would now be free citizens.”

“I see,” Roth said. He supposed the government did have a point. For every capable slave who would manage just fine on their own, if only given a chance, there would be a hundred Tavens, so damaged by their experiences they’d crash completely if let loose out there. 

“Yes,” Nickel said, “but there’s still a hunt going on, behind the scenes. The book claims the government has a long term plan of getting rid of slavery, _by getting rid of the slaves themselves_.”

“Uh,” Roth said. “That sounds kind of conspiratorial, doesn’t it?”

“Actually, I’m inclined to believe them,” Nickel said. “Some laws and regulations around slaveholding I’ve always found unnecessarily and inexplicably harsh, do make more sense to me now. I think of how the state is regularly campaigning for people to have their slaves sterilized, and you know how they usually kill any slave they apprehend, no matter the reason they’re taken. They’ve also made it tougher for the professional breeders and traders, with stricter regulations and increased taxes, which is why slaves like Silas are so rare and expensive. It’s less profitable for breeders to train them these days. 

“Their plan is working, albeit slowly. The statistics in the book seems undeniable, the last fifty years the slave population has decreased from around twenty per cent of the total population to around ten. According to the book, the government is hoping the clans will ‘catch up with the rest of the world’ and let the practice die out in a few generations. When it ‘hopefully’ does die out, thanks to this harsh policy the slaves still left to set free will be so few it won’t cause any larger problems. In the meantime, they prefer any slave they _can’t_ readily get their hands on isn’t freed, is properly controlled, and is not out there on their own, adding to any social problems.”

“Fuck,” Roth said. “That _is_ harsh. They really would like to just discreetly exterminate the whole lot of them, wouldn’t they?” 

Nickel nodded. “It seems so.”

Unbelievable, Roth thought, but he supposed he understood how the government was reasoning. They would naturally be wary about upsetting the powerful and conservative clans, that were notoriously cranky about any changes to their way of life and privileges by openly abolishing slavery, but their current methods were cruel and inhumane. Roth could immediately think of several infinitely better ways to do it. 

How about letting those human rights activists do their job, for example. With some governmental support, the less radical ones could much more effectively work on raising awareness and changing the public opinion. Eventually, the clans would ‘catch up’, as the book had put it. The government could make it easier to free slaves, too, instead of making it harder, and encourage slave owners to do the right thing with tax exemptions, for example. If they were afraid the country would suddenly be overrun with hordes of mentally unstable freed slaves, then why not establish some kind of transition facilities where they could learn to cope, before being granted full citizenship? Seeing as the government’s plan to diminish their numbers was working so well, they were now such a small minority the state could surely afford it. He was sure it wouldn’t cost much more than those damn slave centers.

They remained silent for a while, both seemingly mulling the whole thing over. “So,” Roth finally said. “What do you want to do about the whole thing then?”

“I told you, there’s nothing I _can_ do,” Nickel maintained. 

Roth wasn’t so sure. There had to be a reason those activists sent people this book, and it couldn’t be to show how hopeless it was. He had thought of a few things just now, and he was sure Nickel was fully capable of doing so too, not to mention his boss would be much better equipped to push for alternative solutions. 

He opened his mouth to point this out, but Nickel forestalled him by simply setting the book down on the coffee table in front of them, putting two fingers to the cover and slowly, but with determination, pushing it away.

If that wasn’t a symbolic gesture… 

Roth shut his mouth again. It seemed there would be no drastic changes at the Wren estate during Nickel’s lifetime.

\-----o0o-----

As usual, Silas met him in the door, his shy welcoming something Roth was rather looking forward to these days, now that he’d finally made the boy understand helping him rid himself of any outerwear wasn’t necessary. He gave Silas a warm smile and ruffled his hair, walking inside with the boy close on his heels, suggesting a cup of coffee and some hot cocoa before he had to make ready for the date.

Silas slipped into the kitchen, and Roth went for the living room, slumping down on the couch. He would have preferred it if they prepared their beverages together, but it had been confusing enough for Silas to learn he could sit down with a cup of his own after he’d served the coffee. Baby steps, Roth reminded himself. One day he hoped they could simply share, without this context of serving, but that day wasn’t today. 

He smiled. Confusing Silas had been worth it, only to watch him drink hot cocoa for the first time in his life. The boy hadn’t been able to hide how much he’d liked it, and relaxing with some hot cups together in the afternoon had become a nearly daily ritual. He wasn’t sure Nickel would approve of spoiling a slave with this much cocoa, but… Hell, what harm could it do? The boy was much too small and skinny anyway. 

It didn’t take long for Silas to bring the finished tray and elegantly serve him his coffee with a bow, after which he took a step back, waiting with his gaze humbly lowered for Roth to allow him to sit down and serve himself as well. 

Roth _had_ tried telling Silas he didn’t need to do this quite so formally, or wait for permission to have his cocoa. He wouldn’t have the boy make it in the first place if he’d planned to deny the poor thing, now would he? However, this had proved too much for Silas. Tears in his eyes, the boy had looked at him as if Roth was completely discrediting what he’d been taught, spitting on the only set of skills he had. In the end, Roth had just dropped it, letting Silas do it his way. 

Baby steps... 

He supposed it was tough for the boy, grasping for purpose and meaning to replace what Roth was chipping away from his training. Roth couldn’t really blame Silas for always waiting for confirmation and permission, either, even when it was annoyingly obvious it wasn’t necessary. He remembered what Taven had told him in the gardens back at the mansion, trust didn’t come easy for a slave. Silas had no reason, after all, not to think free people were constantly testing his obedience.

No, it wasn’t that Silas was either stupid or lacked initiative; he just wasn’t taking _any_ risks.

Roth snapped out of his musings, he was making the boy wait. “Come sit with me,” he said patting the cushion beside him, giving Silas an inviting smile.

However, not even watching Silas enjoying his cocoa beside him could make Roth wind down today. His talk with Nickel had left a creeping feeling of unease. He’d demanded to know what Nickel planned to do with the new knowledge, but, what about himself. Roth stole a sideway glance at Silas, daintily sipping from his cup with a straight back, bare ankles crossed. Yeah, what was _he_ planning to do about it? 

Of course, there was nothing to do for the moment. Silas was too young and couldn’t legally be freed until he turned twenty-one, but it wasn’t the thought of being the boy’s ‘master’ until he was old enough that bothered Roth. 

Silas was so… fragile. Roth tried to picture Silas as a young man in his early twenties instead of a kid, but found it almost impossible. Could someone like Silas ever really make it on his own out there? Roth doubted it. Just look at how he couldn’t even make the boy dare assume he was allowed to drink a damn cup of hot cocoa. Sure, he could work more on it, and one day Silas might stop fearing he’d be punished for assuming the simplest things, but to live as a free person was about so much more.

Wouldn’t an adult Silas, too, be better off a slave? Surely, he’d be happier this way, less confused, less scared… Roth shuddered at thinking of Silas all alone out there. Wouldn’t he simply be safer, here, where Roth could always protect him?

\-----o0o-----

Taven pulled his coat tighter around his body and braced himself against the harsh gusts of wind, dead leaves whirling around his booted feet as he passed behind the garage.

For almost two months now, Jonas and he had met at the old stables as often as they could; Taven waiting every day for Jonas to slip him a note, which, when it happened, always took place during lunch. 

Keeping their meetings secret had turned out to be easy enough. Taven spent all mornings and nights with his master, but during the day he often had hours to himself. Time, that he pretty much could spend any way he wanted to. He was a pet, beyond serving his master no one required of him to work. None of the slaves in the house would even dream of asking him to help out, even with the smallest things, and no one questioned what he was up to, or asked why he walked in one direction rather than another. 

If they’d been unsure about how to treat the new personal slave, they definitely knew not to bother the _concubine_. 

His master finding out didn’t seem very likely either. The route Taven was taking could only be overviewed through the windows of the mansion’s east wing, and that was the ‘museum part’ of the house. No one lived in the east wing, a few slaves ever only going over there to dust, and vacuum the floors. In all the time Taven had stayed here, he’d only known his master to go over there himself once, and that had been to show him about. 

Jonas must have a much harder time sneaking away, Taven thought, but somehow he managed just that, again, and again. Any worry Taven had tried to express had been waved away, Jonas assuring him he’d learned to be more careful. Taven chose to believe then his friend knew what he was doing. 

He didn’t want to waste the few precious moments they had together questioning Jonas anyway, not when ten minutes were maybe all they had. If they were lucky, they had twenty, while half an hour was an absolute luxury and anything else a sheer bonus. Jonas had found an old broken alarm clock he’d fixed up and it loudly ticked away while they talked. Every tick and tock reminding them just how little time they had, and still… Somehow, it had been enough for something to grow between them. 

Taven wasn’t entirely sure what this growing thing was. Oh, part of it was friendship, of course. They talked and laughed so easily with each other, after all, rarely a silent moment, the time never enough for their chatter. Not that they ever talked of anything important, interesting, or smart, and he supposed they rarely talked of personal stuff either. Maybe friends should, Serenity often seemed to want to, but… Taven didn’t care. He liked this kind of friendship. He never felt stupid with Jonas, or pressured. Never had to think hard, guard his words, or open up about things he’d rather forget. Jonas never demanded anything of him; he was just there. 

It wasn’t all there was to it, Taven knew. He might not be very smart, but he wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t tell Jonas felt more for him than friendship. Why else would Jonas rather spend time with the spoiled pet when there were young men his own kind around here, _and_ take such risks doing it? The birthday present was a dead giveaway, too, not to mention, Taven had actually overheard Jonas discuss this crush of his with Sarah. However, even without these facts, Taven thought he might have caught on by now. 

Jonas did all these little things. 

When they had sat down together the first times, Jonas had kept a respectful amount of space between them, but as the weeks passed, he would sit closer and closer. He’d buff Taven’s shoulder with his own, tell a bad joke, and they’d laugh. Sometimes Jonas put a hand on Taven’s arm, to get his attention, and then he’d ‘forget’ to pull it back. Often, Jonas would stare at him, and then he’d quickly turn his head away and blush when Taven caught him doing it. Now and then Jonas would casually start to insert some sort of compliment into whatever he was saying, but then he would have trouble getting it out and started to stutter and stammer instead. 

Taven would grin behind his hand at all of these things, but his favorite was when Jonas pretended to yawn and stretch, so he’d have a reason to put his arm on top the bales of hay supporting Taven’s back. Every time, Taven could tell Jonas was dying to put it around his shoulders instead, and pull him closer, but… he never dared to. 

It was just as well Jonas never dared, Taven thought. Whatever the garage slave hoped for, it couldn’t be. 

Taven hadn’t forgotten a word of Serenity’s warnings. ‘_Don’t be a fucking slut, Taven_’, he’d said. ‘_Don’t go with the boys, and don’t go with the girls. You think he won’t find out? He will. Eventually, he will, and then… You’re out_’. 

‘_You do_ not _want to see just how icy cold those friendly brown eyes of his can become if he thinks you’ve betrayed him_.’

Taven shuddered where he walked, and it wasn’t from the cold wind. No, he could never let Jonas put an arm around him and pull him close. It could only lead to disaster, for both of them. 

Yes, of course Taven would put a stop to it, if Jonas ever tried to take things further. However, the big question was; if things had been different, would he have _wanted_ Jonas to take things further? Taven wasn’t sure. It was all so confusing. 

Things were very good with his master these days, weren’t they? He really shouldn’t be thinking about anyone else. Sex was so different now. His master was always gentle and careful and there really was no cause for complaints of any kind. Taven would be both rude and fucking ungrateful ever opening his mouth with a single complaining sound, and yet… Deep down, Taven admitted, staying in Nickel’s bed was sometimes difficult. 

It wasn’t his master’s fault, Taven thought, but so often, they weren’t ‘alone’ in bed. Nickel’s hands would roam over his scarred skin or comb through his hair, Taven would close his eyes, enjoying the feel, but suddenly, it was someone else’s hands, hands that could hurt him at any moment. He would feel his master inside him, taking it slow, letting him set the pace, and he’d go so hard he ached, then, in a fraction of a second it was as if he could no longer tell who was fucking him. It often took all Taven had not to panic, fight it, and yell and scream in fear. 

So many times after his master had fallen asleep, he’d start to cry, and he had no fucking idea why. 

It didn’t really matter how nice the kissing was, and how his master more often than not these days was able to make him come. These episodes were so hard to handle without letting on Taven could have happily lived without ever having sex again. However, it was worth it, he reminded himself. It was worth it for seeing the pleased and happy look on his master’s face, for having the life he now had, and for the moments in bed when they _didn’t_ have sex, and, especially, right _after_ sex. 

Those moments with his master, those were what he _really_ wanted, after all. Those moments when Nickel held him close, caressed him over the head and whispered in his ear how pretty he was, and how good he’d been. Nowhere else than in those arms did Taven feel as safe, as cared for, as appreciated, as… valuable. 

Sex, it was simply the price he had to pay. 

Would it be different with Jonas? Taven didn’t know. The young garage slave was already bigger than Nickel, but Taven couldn’t imagine he would be less gentle, as nice and respectful as Jonas always was around him. Of course, Jonas wasn’t nearly as ‘hot’ as their master was, was he? 

Taven tried to see things through Serenity’s eyes, knowing how contemptuous he was of the workers. He realized Jonas wouldn’t be ‘good enough’. Serenity would chide him for looking at someone like that twice, when a young and handsome lord favored him. Taven frowned at this, already wanting to defend his friend, even though the beautiful concubine’s criticism was only playing out in his own mind. 

Jonas wasn’t really ugly at all; he would angrily let Serenity know. Taven liked his profile with the large and sharp nose, so there, and his eyes were actually very pretty, dark and long-lashed. Sure, his teeth were funny looking, but you, sort of, got used to it. Jonas’ big laughs made him laugh, too, all the time. Taven had come to enjoy seeing those crooked teeth. No, Jonas wasn’t ugly, not to Taven, and Jonas wasn’t the only one stealing glances. Taven, too, couldn’t help looking. Looking at Jonas’ wiry and tanned arms, sticking out of rolled up shirtsleeves, and his large, strong, rough long-fingered hands that could make pretty stars out of trash. 

There were times Taven would catch glimpses of Jonas’ body underneath his threadbare clothes and he had forbidden stirrings between his legs, realizing Jonas was every bit as fit as their master, from hours and hours of work. 

Taven had to admit there was certain attraction, but that didn’t mean things would be different. It didn’t mean Jonas could make him forget things any more than their master could. Besides, no matter how much he liked his new friend, he didn’t know him as well as he did Nickel, not when it came to things like that. Nickel had already seen how awful he looked in the nude, but, for some strange reason, had come to accept it and still found pleasure in his defected slave’s services. Would Jonas? 

Taven had no desire to find out. The last thing he wanted was to see the admiration in Jonas’ eyes die out and change into shock and disgust. 

Even apart from the fact he belonged with someone else, it would surely be better keeping to only being friends, Jonas not knowing too much about him, and enjoy to the fullest the fact that for the first time in his life he had a friend of his own choosing. 

Taven told himself he was through being an idiot and destroying things for himself. 

He reached the stables, opened the old door and fought to close it against the hard wind. Jonas was already there, sitting on the hay bales, wrapped in an old horse blanket, shivering.

“You came,” he said with a warm smile, crooked teeth chattering.

Taven smiled back. Jonas was always as happy to see him. Whenever the garage slave managed to give him a note with a suggested day and time, Taven was never really able to confirm if he could make it or not. All Jonas could do was to go here to wait, and hope. 

He finally won the fight with the door and came to sit down with Jonas, frowning at how he was shivering. Jonas had no coat against the cold fall winds. “Maybe we shouldn’t go here anymore,” he said. “It ain’t gonna get warmer outside.”

“No!” Jonas protested. “I can’t go all winter without… not going here. It’s not that bad. I’ll warm up soon. Takes more than a little cold to kill me, you know. Bruno says I’m strong like a horse.”

“That’s why we’re in the stables?” Taven joked. 

Jonas laughed, but cut himself short in the middle of a chuckle, staring at Taven. “There’s, like, something different about you?” he said, squinting as he leaned in closer and studied Taven’s face.

Taven straightened his neck; smoothed back the small hairs on his wind-tousled head and pulled his scarf off, waiting for Jonas to discover what was, indeed, different about him today.

“Oh,” Jonas finally said, smiling widely. “I’ve got it! You have earrings.” He frowned again. “You didn’t have those before, right?”

”No, I didn’t. Master had it done yesterday.” He shook his head a little, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the large surgical steel hoops. His ear had been pierced after another session with the tattoo removal guy, in his adjoining tattoo and piercing parlor. 

“Did it hurt?” Jonas asked. 

“Nah,” Taven said. Compared to the laser it really had been a breeze, only a tiny, quickly passing, sting, and definitely nothing like the botched piercing of his lost nipple. Not that he would ever explain that to Jonas. Jonas must never know of his tattoo or the large scar on his chest. 

Jonas seemed to follow a sudden impulse and lifted his fingers to Taven’s ear, but the big hand froze in mid air. “It’d be sore to the touch though, right?”

Taven grinned. “That one won’t. That’s the old hole, from the slave tag. The other ear is kinda sore though.”

“Oh.” Jonas grinned back goofily, and resumed the motion, carefully touching the steel. “They… They look really good on you,” he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. 

They were so close, almost nose-to-nose. Jonas’ fingers, still touching his ear, shivered, and they both seemed to have stopped breathing. Taven’s heart pounded in his chest. Jonas closed his eyes, and his lips parted ever so slightly as he tilted his head and leaned in even closer. 

Taven jerked away before their lips touched, and Jonas speedily retrieved his hand, shifted in their seat and turned away. 

“Looks better than the slave tag, I guess,” Taven hurried to say, before Jonas would have a chance to apologize, or say a single word that would make what had almost happened between them real. Taven couldn’t let him do that. “Serenity says a slave tag doesn’t go with anything,” he continued. “So typical of that guy, to even fucking think of stuff like _that_.” He forced a laugh. 

Jonas chuckled. “Yeah, _I_ wouldn’t know,” he answered turning back to him, but still not quite looking him in the eyes. “Aren’t you scared, though?” he asked. “I mean, going without the tag.”

Taven frowned. “Why?”

“Well, if you got lost, or something, no one would know where you belonged.”

Taven frowned deeper, remembering the police taking his master and abandoning him at the mall, but he shook off the awful memory and smiled at Jonas’ worried expression. “Why would I get lost?” he said. He smiled wider, and buffed Jonas’ shoulder with his own. “I ain’t ever gonna get lost,” he promised.

\-----o0o-----

Jonas had said goodbye and walked back to the garage, but Taven remained. They had decided it was best if they weren’t seen coming or leaving the stables together, and depending on what suited them best that day, either he or Jonas, left before the other.

Taven leaned back into the hay bales, frowning. He couldn’t believe Jonas had nearly _kissed_ him. Good he’d stopped it in time. Taven just couldn’t let stuff like that happen, and Jonas really should know better. Yeah, he’d never been so sure in his life he’d done the right thing, stopping it.

Still, he could think of nothing else than that almost-kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	64. Found Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... oh...
> 
> /Fran

Nickel stomped through the corridor leading over to the east wing of the mansion, dressed in hat, boots, scarf and overcoat. Farther along a maid was vacuuming the long carpets. She stared at his strange appearance and bowed as he rushed past her. He ignored the wide-eyed woman, and stalked through the halls and rooms, a specific back door his goal. Nickel halted inside this door, stared out the nearest window, and prepared to wait.

\-----o0o-----

A few days earlier, one of the house slaves had reported a large antique painting in the main hall of the east wing falling off the wall. With two slaves in tow, Nickel had walked over to inspect the damage. The three hundred year old portrait was fortunately unharmed, but its frame had broken into several pieces, and there was a big hole in the plastered wall.

Nickel had ordered the repair on the wall, sending one of the slaves away to fetch tools, while making a mental note of calling a conservator to look at the frame as soon as possible. He hoped it could be restored, as the ornate, carved and gilded piece was an original from the time and probably as valuable as the painting itself. 

He’d sighed as he and the other slave had tried to pick up the pieces of the damaged frame without missing any parts, thinking, not for the first time, he wished he could move into an apartment similar to Roth’s new place. Was this a home for a young modern person? It should rather be an actual museum, open to the public and run by professionals. 

Nickel had got back on his feet, leaving the slave with his nose in the old carpets, and had slowly turned around, portraits of long dead ancestors staring with stern and demanding eyes at him from all directions. One of them might have fallen, but enough of them remained hanging to remind him of his duties. 

He would go nowhere. 

It was at the second turn he’d spotted the small figure. He’d stopped the silly spinning and walked up to the window. Was that Taven trudging through the snow toward the garage? Nickel had frowned deeply. What reason could his concubine possibly have for going to the garage? Immediately suspicious, Nickel had followed Taven with his eyes, until the boy had disappeared _behind_ the garage, then appearing again, walking on. 

Turning away from the window Nickel had stepped over the kneeling slave, still looking for splinters of three hundred year old gilded wood, and flung open the doors of an equally old cabinet of curiosities, impatiently rummaging through it. A minute later, he’d been back at the window with a pair of mother of pearl opera glasses in his hand. Locating the small figure through the binoculars, Nickel had been surprised to see Taven aim straight for the old stables, open a door, and disappear inside. 

He’d had no idea how long he’d stayed there by the window, staring through those old opera glasses, but eventually Taven had come back outside, and retraced his steps through the snow, again passing behind the garage. When Taven had neared the house, Nickel had dropped the opera glasses in the lap of the confused looking slave and had stormed out of the hall.

Nickel had intended to find Taven and demand to know what he was up to, but somewhere on his way through the house, he’d changed his mind, thinking he should give Taven a chance to be truthful with him. 

Instead, he’d obeyed another impulse and walked over to the study to find the garage boy’s papers.

Leafing through the folders in the estate’s archives, he hadn’t really known what it actually was he was looking for. Nickel had only had this sudden urge to know more about that lanky boy with the big nose and the bad teeth. There’d been nothing of interest in the slave’s papers, though. The boy was seventeen years old and was born in the kitchens. No additional notes had been made of any sort of misconduct, illnesses, accidents, or anything else out of the ordinary. 

Nickel had kept searching and finally found what appeared to be Jonas’ biological father, who turned out to be a worker leased out to one of the Wren estate’s tenant farms. The slave had stayed at the same farm for more than twenty years, and Nickel had no idea who he was. He doubted Jonas knew either. The notes clearly stated the breeding had been ‘_non-permissible_’ and further contact between the two slaves forbidden. However, Nickel had read, following his father’s neat longhand: ‘_Since the foolish girl managed to conceal her condition until it was too late for an abortion, I, after long and annoying minutes of incessant wailing, finally allowed her to keep her ill-begotten spawn_’. 

Curios, Nickel had gone back to the folders and found the boy’s mother as well, his eyes widening as he looked through her papers. No wonder his father had had misgivings about the whole thing. The maid had given birth at only thirteen years old, by a twenty-five year old field worker. Nickel had frowned; he certainly wouldn’t have allowed such relations either. He’d just been about to put the folder back when he noticed the dates at the top. Jonas’ mother had died only two years later. He’d looked for his father’s notes, and as soon as he started reading them, the memory came back to him.

It had been a normal afternoon, like any other. Nickel, eleven years old at the time, had been playing alone at the back of the house, Taven being off somewhere else, when his solitary games had been interrupted by screaming, crying and yelling from the kitchens. Nickel had run over to see what was going on, noticing a strange smell already in the door, as if something had burned. He’d only caught a glimpse of the girl’s bare and skinny legs on the floor, the rest of her hidden from view by several maids, hysterically calling out her name and shaking her.

Nickel recalled how he’d taken a step inside, thinking maybe he could help if the little maid had fallen, but then a slave had grabbed him by the arm and taken him out the back. He hadn’t realized until later that he’d been looking at a dead body. 

‘_The old and faulty electrical stove has been replaced_’, his father’s longhand had informed him. ‘_An electrician will be called in as soon as possible, as an update of the entire down stair’s wiring and appliances might be necessary. It will be expensive, but I’ll have no repeat of this._’.

He’d stared at the note. Was that what had happened? He’d never known. His parents hadn’t spoken a word of it, and might not know he’d seen the girl. Nickel had recalled how at dinner that same night one of the serving maids had broken down weeping. His father had simply dismissed her, not unkindly, but with no consoling words. She’d been immediately replaced with someone who had better self control and hadn’t further interrupted their meal. The matter hadn’t been discussed. 

Nickel had put the folders back with a queasy sense of unease.

Later that night Nickel had stayed true to his decision not to confront Taven and, as so many times before, had only casually asked him how he’d spent his day. Taven had shrugged and mentioned trying to read the latest book his master had given him and then taking a walk outside. Nickel had given the boy another chance to ‘come clean’, asking where his walk had taken him. ‘_Just around the gardens_’, Taven had answered.

That answer, which so obviously had been a lie, was why Nickel had walked over here every day since, and why he was sweating in the indoor heat in his winter coat, prepared to crash through the back door as soon as Taven passed this way again.

He would catch the boy red handed, and he _would_ have the truth.

\-----o0o-----

Taven shivered, walking back from the week’s few precious moments with his friend. He hated the cold, but as long as Jonas could walk down there in only his thin shirt, _he_ wasn’t going to complain. Well, he was close to the house now, and would soon be back in his warm room downstairs. Taven walked faster at the thought, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sound of a door slamming shut, and the sight of his master coming towards him with long strides.

He stared, frozen in place. What the fuck was his master doing here? The man was never in this part of the house. 

“Where have you been?” Nickel asked. There was no mistaking the anger that lured under the surface of this simple question.

“I… I was just taking a walk, Master,” Taven said. 

“Just taking a walk? A walk ‘around the gardens’ in a part of the estate where there are, in fact, no gardens? Just a walk, you say, with no particular destination whatsoever?”

Taven blinked, unable to answer. His master couldn’t know, could he? No, he couldn’t, surely he couldn’t. Taven only had to think up a plausible explanation and everything would be fine. 

Not a single word came to him.

His master didn’t look happier at this silence. “What are you doing in the stables?” he demanded. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I saw you. I know that’s where you’re going. Well?”

Taven couldn’t come up with an answer for the life of him.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Nickel yelled, making him jump. “It’s that infernal garage boy again, isn’t it? You’ve been meeting him in the stables, haven’t you?”

Taven stared. His master did know. Somehow, he knew.

“Fuck!” his master uncharacteristically swore, seemingly thinking his shocked silence was admission enough. “I knew it. I _knew_ it.” Nickel turned in the direction of the garage and raised his fist in the air. “That little _bastard_! I’ll… I’ll…” 

Taven’s head swam. He’d been scared, but now he almost panicked. His master had obviously been angry already coming here, but Taven realized now the bulk of that anger wasn’t directed at him. Maybe his master preferred to think Taven had somehow been ‘tricked’ into this so he could blame it all on Jonas. 

Most likely, _he_ would survive this, his master eventually forgiving his concubine for ‘being manipulated’ by another slave. Nickel hadn’t beaten him so far, he enjoyed his slave’s sexual services, and Taven could no longer be thrown out of the house in any case. He’d have plenty of time to work on gaining back his master’s trust, but Jonas… 

Jonas had no privileges to protect him, and wasn’t a ‘pretty pet’ a master could form some sort of attachment to. He was only one of many walking and talking tools around here, and he meant nothing to their master. Nickel had promised not to flog anyone, but seeing the man now, eyes blazing with fury, cursing and threatening, Sarah’s words echoed in Taven’s mind. 

‘_You try seducing his precious fucktoy, and you just watch how nice he’ll be_’.

Taven didn’t dare trust that promise anymore. 

“Master, no!” he begged. “Don’t… Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Nickel spun back around, his eyes still full of anger. “What?” he shouted, looking like he couldn’t believe Taven would side with Jonas against him. 

Somehow, that made him angry. It wasn’t right to blame Jonas, or that Nickel was angry with them at all. They hadn’t done anything. Maybe Taven deserved punishment for his lies, but apart from that, they hadn’t broken a single fucking rule. It wasn’t fair Jonas could be flogged, whipped, even sold, when he’d never even dared as much as giving Taven a friendly hug, much less all the other stuff his master was obviously imagining in his jealousy. 

Dread and anger made Taven throw all caution aside. “If you hurt him, Master,” he heard himself yelling. “If you hurt him, I… I- I’ll never let you touch me again. _Never_!”

He automatically retreated a few steps in sheer astonishment at his own dare, but his master didn’t roar at him, or reached for him in anger, as he’d expected. Instead, Nickel didn’t move at all, and at the end of his defiant words, there was only silence. 

Too late Taven remembered Serenity’s most urgent warning not to make his master think he’d been betrayed, and he was so scared he was now going to see Nickel’s eyes go cold; he thought he was going to throw up. What he did see was something completely different, but nearly as bad. 

Nickel didn’t look either angry, or cold. He only looked… sad. He stared at Taven, shoulders drooping, a world of hurt in his eyes. 

Taven swallowed hard. What the fuck was he doing? Was he crazy? Taven wanted to kick himself for how stupid he was. Jonas and he, they _were_ innocent. There might be attraction, but they hadn’t acted on it. The one time Jonas had been tempted to, Taven had stopped it. Hell, they hadn’t even talked of things like that, but instead of assuring Nickel nothing had happened, he’d threatened the man. How could he ever expect his master to believe him now? 

Desperate, Taven threw himself headlong into the snow at Nickel’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he cried out. “I didn’t mean it. I ain’t ever gonna say no to you, Master. Never, I swear. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” 

He meant it. Taven was hurting the only person who’d ever seen all of him and still cared. Just what kind of complete and utter shit was he? At that moment, he couldn’t have been more ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, pressing his face into Nickel’s boots, clawing at the hem of his long coat. “I- I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it…” He could do nothing else than weep and repeat how sorry and regretful he was, but it had no effect. Nickel didn’t reach for him, or comfort him, as he usually would.

“You…” his master finally spoke. “You’ve been with him?”

“No!” Taven sobbed. “No, Master, I swear I haven’t. I’ve only been with you since I got here, no one else. He’s never even touched me, not once, not _ever_. We only talked. We just talk, I swear…”

Again, his master took long to answer. “How can I believe you when you go behind my back like this, when you lie to me, and then tell me you’d deny me? Help me believe you, Taven, because right now, I’m not able to.”

Taven was crying so hard now he had trouble speaking. “I just wanted a friend, Master,” he finally managed. “You said I could have a friend, you _said_ I could. I- I just wanted _someone_ here to like me, and… You- you said we couldn’t be in my room, and I was just- just… I didn’t mean to go behind your back, Master, I swear, but I fucking knew you’d think I’d… We only hid ‘cause I knew you’d think a lot of shit that ain’t true. I was just scared you’d hurt him, or- or sell him, when he hasn’t done anything. I swear he never did anything to me, Master. He’d never dare. Please, Master, please don’t hurt him when it’s me who’s fucking stupid.” 

“You believed I wouldn’t trust you in any case?”

“Yes!” Taven cried. “I’m sorry.”

“I… I suppose I can follow your reasoning,” his master conceded. “Now, it doesn’t mean either of you will get away with this kind of behavior, you understand? I _will_ have to deal with this, but no one will be flogged, that much I can promise you.”

Not until this assurance did Taven dare sit back on his heels and look up. Nickel shook his head and sighed, the hurt and anger gone from his eyes. “Don’t sit in the snow, boy, you’ll get a cold,” he said, giving Taven a hand, pulling him to his feet and embracing him. 

Taven wept against Nickel’s chest in sheer relief, but as grateful as he was Jonas and he would both survive this, he couldn’t help how sad he was their secret meetings were over.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel wouldn’t stoop to go find a particular slave if he wanted to bring up an issue with them. No, he would of course have them sent for. If the matter was serious, he preferred having the advantage of the intimidating atmosphere of the study in any case, as well as the slave knowing they were in for it if told to go there.

Still, he’d put on his coat and was trudging through the snow to reach the garage. He wasn’t going to send for Jonas. This time Nickel wanted the element of surprise on his side, and he wouldn’t give the garage boy a chance to think up any lies. 

Only Bruno and Jonas lived and worked in the garage permanently, Bruno calling in workers from the general work pool whenever he needed an extra hand, and there were also three other slaves in the workshop when Nickel forcefully pulled a door open and stepped inside, unannounced. All five dropped whatever they had in their hands at the sight of him and stepped back, automatically lining up, bowing and nervously wiping their dirty hands on their shirts. 

Nickel pointed at Jonas. “You! Stay! The rest of you… Get out!”

The three extra workers were fast enough to obey his order; almost getting stuck in the door in their eagerness to leave the garage all at the same time, but Bruno dragged his feet. It was obvious he was reluctant to leave the already terrified Jonas on his own. Nickel followed an impulse and called out for him to stay, after all. 

Bruno turned on his heels and silently walked back to stand at Jonas’ side, putting a comforting and supportive hand on the boy’s shaking arm. Nickel frowned. Did Bruno know what this was about? Did _everybody_ know his concubine was sneaking away with the workers behind his back? The compassion that had made him change his mind and let Bruno stay with Jonas was promptly drowned out by this humiliating possibility. 

“You!” he growled, again pointing at Jonas with an accusing finger. “You’ve been seeing my concubine without my permission.”

Jonas whimpered in fear at this and started to sink down on his knees, but Nickel wouldn’t allow it. “Get up!” he ordered, the sharpness of his voice like a whiplash in the large hall. He was much too softhearted that’s what he was, and he wouldn’t risk having the slave beg at his feet and maybe succeed in defusing his righteous anger. “Stay on your feet, understand?” he barked. 

The boy sobbed openly now and shook so badly it was a wonder he managed to obey. His pathetic weeping might have made Bruno overcome his slavish nature. He stepped in front of Jonas as if he thought he would need to protect him from a physical attack, hiding the boy behind his broad shoulders. “Master, please…”

“Quiet!” Nickel roared, interrupting Bruno’s plea. “Step aside and remain silent, or I’ll throw you out!”

Bruno obeyed without a word, respectfully lowering his gaze, but it didn’t escape Nickel how his hand returned to Jonas’ arm. For a moment, Nickel wondered if Bruno _would_ physically intervene if he tried to hurt Jonas. He didn’t want to believe the chauffeur would dare do such a thing, but it was an unsettling thought, no matter how fleeting. 

He hadn’t come here to hurt the boy in any case. 

Nickel drew himself up to his full height, boring his eyes into Jonas’. “Now, I want the truth from you, slave, and God help you if you lie to me. Did you touch Taven?” 

Jonas shook and wept as he swallowed and swallowed. It was clear he was trying to answer, but couldn’t get the words out. 

Nickel frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand just how frightened the young slave must be, or how justified he really was in being so. This wasn’t a court of law, and Jonas’ ‘crime’ didn’t need to be proven beyond any reasonable doubt. Nickel had the power to bring down judgment over the boy, no matter if he was guilty or not. A part of Nickel understood the level of the boy’s fear had no bearing on his possible guilt, and still, his suspicions took over. Why did Jonas have such trouble denying the accusation? Had Taven lied to him, after all? 

“Answer me, slave,” Nickel roared, making them both jump.

Jonas wept louder, shaking his head. “N- no, M- m- master,” he managed, stammering badly. “N- ne- never… Never touched… never, never… I- I swear, never touched… Never.”

“You only talked?” Nickel asked, cringing at the almost pleading tone that somehow escaped his lips. 

Jonas wept and his big hands shook, twisting the shirt hem in front of him. He was, again, unable to speak and only nodded frantically. 

Nickel sighed deeply. Oh, of course such a slave wouldn’t dare lie to his master. Taven had told the truth, Jonas was confirming it, and Nickel, making the poor thing almost peeing himself in terror, was being unnecessarily cruel. Still, the mere possibility it was all a lie wouldn’t leave him alone. 

He realized, as long as he was in fact not omniscient, there was no way to know for sure, and this notion didn’t sit well with Nickel. Well then, eliminating such unpleasant doubt in the future would be easy enough. All he had to do was to get rid of this boy, and he’d never have to worry again. The slave was young and strong, and apparently a decent mechanic. He wouldn’t be hard to sell. Yes, Taven might not be happy, but… How much of an attachment could Taven really have formed in such a short time? Surely, he would soon get over it. 

However, unbidden thoughts of that book the human rights organization had sent him stole into his mind. 

Nickel’s clan was one of the oldest in the country, and it was actually fully possible an early ancestor had personally advocated for changing the laws that had enslaved the children they’d promised to raise to an independent life. Had one of the faces in the gilded frames back there in the east wing put a chain around the neck of one of _Jonas_’ ancestors and coldly informed them the promise was recanted? 

He would never know. The estate’s records didn’t go back that far, obviously, and Jonas’ ancestors had never been immortalized in oil on canvas and hung on the walls. Jonas’ roots, as nameless and faceless as they were, probably did go almost as deep into the soil they were standing on as his own, but there was no way to tell. What he did know was that the boy was born here, that he enjoyed his work, and everyone he’d ever known was here with him. They were friends, family, relatives, Bruno seemingly wishing to act as the boy’s stand in father, and his mother was buried on the grounds.

This was now a child who _wouldn’t_ want to leave.

Yes, he had the legal right to sell the slave if he so chose, but did he in fact have the _moral_ right to drive Jonas away from the only home the boy had ever known. Besides, if Nickel thought Taven would forgive such a thing, or ever trust him again, he was severely deluding himself. 

Jonas’ sobs echoed under the high ceiling in the otherwise silent workshop, and Bruno’s hand tightened around the boy’s arm. Their master kept staring at them in silence, they had no idea if their lives were now over, and they could do nothing but wait for their ‘verdict’. Nickel swallowed hard. It wasn’t that he in any way enjoyed this.

He nevertheless kept to his strict demeanor, trying to remember he was the master here. 

“Well, it seems your stories match,” he finally declared. “I’m inclined to believe you’re actually telling the truth. Since Taven admitted the whole thing was his idea, I’ll…”

Jonas looked up in shock, and it was painfully obvious how worried he was about Taven. Nickel fought his jealousy. “What happens to Taven is none of your concerns, slave,” he spat. “I suggest you worry about your own future.”

This did nothing to decrease the sobbing, and Nickel sighed at the wailing. “Oh, calm down, boy,” he said. “I told you I believe you, didn’t I? Nothing will happen to Taven. You think I’d hurt my own concubine? Stop crying, slave, for goodness sake, I’m not going to hurt you either.”

Both Jonas and Bruno looked like they were about to fall apart in sheer relief, but Nickel wasn’t done. He wanted to make sure they understood how displeased he still was, and just how lucky Jonas was to get away this easily.

“Know that I seriously considered selling you for this,” he said. “Remember that if you’re ever tempted to touch your master’s personal belongings. However, since Taven _is_ to blame here, I’ll let you go unpunished, _this_ time. You might consider thanking him for speaking on your behalf, slave.”

Nickel might be justified in demanding Jonas properly thanked his master for the leniency, but it seemed, again, the boy was simply physically unable to get a word out. He let it pass.

“This should tell you how much I value my concubine,” he continued, “and how important his wellbeing is to me. He seems to be in need of friendship and for some reason, which completely eludes me; he enjoys your company. I won’t deny him. However, if I’m to allow any kind of interaction between the two of you, there will have to be rules. Do I make myself clear?”

Jonas nodded frantically.

“From now on you’ll keep to these premises only. I’ll not have you run all over the estate, and if you ever steal leisure time like this again, I’ll send you to one of the farms to work the fields. Understand?”

The frantic nodding hardly ceased between his words. 

“Good! Now, if I decide Taven has earned time with you, I’ll let him come here.”

Bruno’s hold on Jonas’ arm tightened again and Nickel shifted his attention to the chauffeur. “In fact… Bruno, it will be on _your_ responsibility my concubine is never left alone with your ward. You will keep an eye on them, and see to it Taven is safe here. If he returns to me with as much as a single grease stain, I’ll have your hide. Understand?”

From the tensing of his shoulders, it was easy to see the trusty wasn’t happy about this development, but Nickel couldn’t have cared less. If Bruno had any brains at all, he’d accept this unwanted added responsibility as punishment for not telling his master what he’d suspected, or knew; which was the least he deserved. 

“Yes, Master,” Bruno answered, bowing, not a hint of defiance in his voice. 

Oh, he knew to be grateful, all right. 

“Just so there are no misunderstandings here,” Nickel continued, turning back to Jonas. “You can talk, under supervision, when _I_ say you can, but there is to be no physical contact between you. Taven is _mine_, you hear?”

Jonas hadn’t quite gotten himself under control, still sniffing and swallowing, but he managed a ‘yes master’ together with a clumsy bow.

“Well then,” Nickel finished. “Now that we’re all clear on this… Go back to work!”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel wasn’t quite happy with himself as he walked back to the house. Oh, he’d cleared everything up, and successfully implemented the necessary rules, carrying himself, for the most part, as a master should. Yet, he’d showed hints of a most inappropriate weakness, as well, and he regretted these cracks in his stern and strict demeanor. Why, for example, had he yelled at Jonas that Taven was his, as if he’d been in an argument with an actual rival?

Hadn’t they immediately realized how jealous he was, and that of someone so far beneath him to boot? How obvious had it really been how scared he was of losing Taven’s affections? 

Yes, he was weak, and his father wouldn’t have held back in telling him so, too, scolding him, no doubt, for making a fool of himself in front of the slaves, acting as if a mere worker was any sort of threat. 

Nickel shook it, telling himself he didn’t care what the slaves had seen. They would obey him, that was all he needed here, and Taven… Taven wouldn’t think him cruel now, surely, and would never look at him with such hate in his eyes again, denying him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Paxterhobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber) is so good to me :-) Again, she illustrated a scene in this chapter with the cutest sketch. Go take a look! You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919/chapters/67212406).
> 
> Again, thank you so much for this, Paxterhobber. You spoil me. :-) 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> [Leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo) _also_ illustrated the same scene, and you have to go and see that one, too! :-) It can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/68072587). Just look at that touching scene. Poor Taven! Thank you so much, Leaovo! :-) 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!): 
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	65. Out of the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will have two chapters tonight, on account of both chapter 65 and 66 being rather short, so, two for the price of one tonight :-) It was quite a long time ago I posted two chapters last, and looking at my posting schedule, it will happen two more times before the story is finished.
> 
> Well, hope you enjoy :-) 
> 
> /Fran

Bruno glared at him when Taven stepped into the garage and stomped the snow off his boots. Taven glared back, pulling the scarf from his throat and pushing it into his coat pocket, a ‘fuck off’ at the tip of his tongue. The chauffeur hated him, and Taven hated having the sour trusty always nearby, but it was the only way that he could see Jonas. He ignored Bruno – the chauffeur never dared saying anything mean to him anyway – and stalked through the workshop to find his friend.

Said friend had his head stuck deep down under the opened hood of a vintage car and neither saw nor heard him coming. Taven quietly sneaked up on him and leaned in close. “Boo!” he yelled.

Jonas flew up with a startled cry, narrowly missing bumping his head against the edge of the hood. “Hey, don’t do that!” he said, frowning.

Taven grinned widely and held out a plain brown paper bag, giving him a ‘please forgive me’-look with it. It didn’t take many seconds before Jonas abandoned his frown, and smiled in return. “What’s that?” he asked, holding up his greasy hands to show he couldn’t take the bag.

He stepped closer and urged him to take it anyway. “Open it and you’ll see,” he said.

Jonas’ curiosity won out, he quickly wiped his hands on a rag, took the bag and peeked inside. “Wow,” he whispered. “Are you kidding me? Where did you get these?” He looked over his shoulder to where Bruno was working on a truck a bit farther away and drew back behind the car.

Taven followed, trying to shield their treasure from Bruno. “Serenity gave them to me,” he said, keeping his voice low, too. “You know, his master lets him have pretty much anything he wants, and he gets me stuff, too. He doesn’t often get us sweet stuff like this though, says he wants to, like, stay slim and shit.” Taven rolled his eyes. “I was gonna eat them at his place; you know master hates things like this and he’d never let me keep them if he saw, but I figured you’d never had any before either?”

Jonas shook his head, still staring into the paper bag. They both knew things like cake and pastry was a rarity in this house, and nothing the workers ever got a chance to feast on in any case. Jonas’ brown eyes were shining at the two big fruit tarts covered in whipped cream, resting on a cardboard tray at the bottom of the bag. 

Taven smiled; pleased he’d managed to make his friend excited. “You have one, and I have one,” he suggested, his own mouth watering at the mere thought of them. 

Jonas didn’t look convinced of the excellence of the plan. “Should we really…?”

“Oh, who the fuck would know? We’re _eating_ the evidence,” Taven pointed out.

Jonas silently looked over to Bruno once more. Taven sighed, understanding what he was trying to tell him. Eating pastry without Bruno noticing wasn’t really possible, so someone _would_ know, and if they tried to sneak away from Bruno, they’d be in big trouble. 

There was only one solution. Bribe Bruno. 

Luckily, Bruno had as much of a sweet tooth as the next person, and it didn’t take Jonas long to convince him to keep quiet about the whole thing. A few moments later the shared fruit tarts had found a happy home in their bellies, all three of them eating in reverential silence, trying to savor every bite, and scrape off any crumb or whipped cream smear left on the cardboard tray. 

Bruno went back to work on the truck, and Jonas, still seated on a pile of old tires, wiped some cream from his upper lip, leaving a black streak in its stead. “Thanks,” he said, eyes still shining. “That was probably the best thing I’ve ever had. So, are we, like, celebrating something, or…?”

“Not really,” Taven said. “It’s just, it’s Christmas soon, and I won’t be here. We’ll leave tomorrow, so I thought we’d have them now.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, eyes dulling down. “Of course, you’ll go with Master over Christmas, I didn’t think of that. I… I’ll miss you.” The last was added with averted eyes and so quietly, Taven almost didn’t hear.

There was an awkward silence where none of them seemed to know what to say next. Taven wished he could sit down beside Jonas, buff his shoulder with his own, and reply he’d miss him right back, but that sort of ease and comfort, which so quickly had developed between them before, was now mostly gone. Their master had put quite an effective stop to it. 

Ever since the conditions of their friendship had been made clear to them both, Jonas had been skittishly overcautious about touching him even in the most innocent ways, preferring not to even stand very close. In fact, it had taken weeks for Taven to make Jonas speak this casually with him again. 

By all means, there had always been a wedge between them, respect for Taven’s status, more than his natural shyness, making Jonas careful around him, but Nickel had now driven it so deep Taven feared it could never be the same again. Well, he should be grateful they could see each other at all. That his master allowed him to go down to the garage twice a week, only to talk with Jonas, was nothing less than a miracle considering how badly he’d screwed up. 

“I’ll only be gone for about a week,” Taven finally said. “Believe me, I’d rather stay here.”

“Why?” Jonas said, looking surprised. “You’ll get to see the mountains. I’d die to see that. You know, before, in the old days, the whole clan went up there and took many of the house slaves with them. They’ve told us workers all about it and say it’s just amazing. Aren’t you excited you’re gonna see it?”

Taven squirmed. “I guess. Okay, sure, I don’t mind seeing stuff and all that, it’s just…” He frowned. “I don’t wanna be anywhere near the old master. He… He doesn’t like me.”

Jonas looked like he didn’t believe him for a second. “Oh, of course he likes you,” he said, smiling. “Why wouldn’t he like you? He wouldn’t have given you to Master as a concubine if he didn’t.” 

Yeah, that was still the big mystery, wasn’t it? Taven sneered. “Believe me, he fucking _hates_ me.”

“Why?” Jonas asked; eyes round and incomprehensive.

“Ain’t like he’s alone in it, or anything,” Taven muttered under his breath. Jonas sounded as if 'people not liking him' was some kind of rare thing. He cast a glance at Bruno out of the corner of his eye, the trusty watching them like a hawk, as usual. That was definitely not true. 

“Last time the old master came here,” Taven explained, his gaze dropping to his booted feet. “I was kinda… you know… rude to him...”

Jonas looked more than shocked. “You were… rude? To- to… H- how did you even survive that?”

Taven shrugged, Jonas must know the only possible answer. Nickel had saved him, as usual.

“What- what did you say to him?” Jonas asked further.

“Jonas!” Bruno cut in. “Enough of this! You think that car will change its own oil, or what. Well? Get off your ass! And you…” He turned to Taven. “Go back to Master, you’ve stayed long enough!”

Taven glared at Bruno. He hadn’t stayed long at all. Nickel wouldn’t miss him for a while yet. Would it kill Bruno to let them talk a little longer when they weren’t going to see in over a week? Taven had brought fruit tarts and all. Bruno was such a fucking _bastard_. However, Taven swallowed the angry protest. He was sure Nickel was making Bruno report back regularly on his behavior, and he didn’t want to risk these meetings, too.

“It’s all right, Taven,” Jonas said, hanging his head. He got up from the tires and leaned over the engine of the old car again. “I gotta get back to work, anyway, and… Thanks, again, for the cake, and- and… I hope you’ll have a nice time up there, and, we’ll see when you get back, right?”

Taven turned his angry eyes away from Bruno and tried to smile at his friend. “Yeah,” he promised. “I’ll come visit again as soon as I can.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven wound the scarf around his neck as he closed the garage door behind him. To leave on such a note, Jonas looking so sad, Bruno more or less throwing him out, had felt so fucking wrong. He wished he could have given Jonas a simple pat on the arm, or any brief touch, to bring back at least some of the old familiarity between them, and cheer his friend up, but…

Touches were forbidden.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel turned in front his large, ornate, full-length mirror in his bedroom, inspecting himself from all angles. He’d ordered a new bespoke three-piece suit.

It had arrived this morning, and that just in time, since he was going away for the Christmas holidays in only a few hours. He always looked forward to dressing up for Christmas dinner, even if it was a small, casual and intimate family affair only these days, but he’d worn the same suit two Christmases in a row. That wouldn’t do, it had been high time for something new. 

He couldn’t help the pleased smile at the sight. The suit had a certain modern ‘edge’ to it, while remaining mostly traditional, and was thus unlikely to make his father wrinkle his nose at it. The clan’s tailor was also skilled in enhancing his best features, and Nickel particularly liked how the cut and choice of fabric somehow made him look taller. 

Nickel turned again, still keeping an eye on himself in the mirror. “What do you think, Eve?” he asked. The maid had helped him unpack the new suit from the rustling silk papers of its large box, and was standing silently behind him with her hands crossed in front of her.

She looked up briefly. “It fits fantastically, Master,” she said in that almost inaudible voice of hers. 

Nickel grinned. “It _is_ not bad on me, is it?”

Eve blushed appropriately. 

“Well, I’ll change out of it, so you can get started packing. When you’re done, go down to Taven’s and help him, as well. I fear the poor thing won’t have a clue how to pack a suitcase, or what to bring.”

Eve bowed.

Nickel stepped into the bathroom to change into something more comfortable for the almost four hour long drive to the mountains, and when he came back out, Eve was already busy packing, a large assortment of clothing items laid out onto his bed.

He watched her work for a moment, conflicted. He’d wanted to say something to her for a while now, but every time he’d been about to, he’d imagined his father’s disapproving eyes, and had kept it to himself, after all. 

Oh, to hell with it, he shouldn’t be such a wimp. “Eve?” he said. 

The mousy maid at once turned at his voice and waited for further instructions, her gaze nailed to the floor, as usual. 

Nickel cleared his throat. “Some fifteen years ago,” he started, uneasy. “There was an accident in the kitchens. A young maid was electrocuted by a faulty stove.”

Eve visibly tensed.

“I believe her name was Leila?” Nickel went on. “Did you… Did you know her well?”

Eve didn’t look up, and her coarse hands shook a little. “Yes, Master.”

It was a simple answer, only two confirming words, and yet there was such pain behind them. Nickel hadn’t really particularly pondered how close that girl might have been to his chambermaid. He supposed he’d only thought of speaking to Eve as a ‘representative’ of the house slaves, as he had so many times before. However, Eve _had_ been close to her, maybe they were related even. In most cases, Nickel had only vague notions of what the house slaves were to each other. The room fell silent.

“I… I’m sorry,” Nickel finally said. “I’m _very_ sorry.”

Eve glanced up at him briefly before lowering her gaze again “Thank you, Master,” she whispered, a near sob in her soft voice.

Nickel looked away. There had been such utter surprise on her face. The master seemed to care, and it was apparently nothing less than astonishing to her. Her tear-filled gratitude at this simple recognition of her deceased kin made him feel even worse. 

It wasn’t that he was so coldhearted, or that he didn’t care if they lived or died. He’d only been a child, and the accident hadn’t been spoken of, and… 

He did care. Didn’t he?

\-----o0o-----

A while later Nickel took the backstairs down to Taven’s room, cursing at the narrow treads, fearing the price for seeing his concubine might turn out to be a broken neck one of these days. It was maybe time to bring up the question of moving the boy upstairs again, something that Taven had managed to avoid, so far. Well, it could wait until after the holidays.

Taven sat on the bed, in his usual corner, when he walked inside, two smaller closed suitcases at his feet. Nickel smiled at the sight. “Good, you’ve finished packing.” 

“Yeah, like, no,” Taven said. “I kinda didn’t do anything of that, Master. I tried, but Eve just did it over totally. Do I really need all that? I fu… I can hardly even lift those bags.”

Nickel stepped up to the bed to feel the weight of the suitcases. “Oh, it’s not so bad, boy,” he grinned. “You’ve been working out. Surely your muscles are now big enough to carry these.” He winked at Taven, the boy frowning in reply as if he didn’t know if his master was joking with him or not. 

He stepped closer, intending to give Taven an affectionate pat on the arm in comfort of his lighthearted teasing, but his toes bumped into something under the bed, and he crouched down to look instead. There was no mistaking Taven’s flustered and guilty expression when he pulled out a mysterious metal object and held it up before the boy with raised eyebrows.

“What in God’s name is this?” Nickel blurted out, holding the dirty object as far away from his clean clothes as possible. 

“Uh,” Taven said, squirming where he sat. “It was, kinda, a- a birthday present, Master.”

“A _birthday_ present?” 

Who, besides himself, would give Taven a present? It could hardly be Serenity. Nickel scowled at the weird object, Serenity would weep at such a hideous thing. Oh, of course… Jonas… “The garage boy,” he said, his scowl deepening. “Where on earth would _he_ get hold of a present? Did he steal this? Well?”

Taven got off the bed, reaching for the spiky object, but not quite daring ripping it out of his master’s hands. “No!” he said, desperation in his voice. “He didn’t steal it, I swear. Jonas would never steal anything. He’s a good slave, Master, much better than me, and- and… He just gave it to me to be nice, it didn’t mean anything, and he made it himself. He makes a lot of those. You know, out of trash and shit. It’s just trash that no one wants, ain’t nothing stolen in it. Please, Master, don’t throw it away.”

Nickel looked back and forth between Taven and the object his concubine had been gifted with. That awkward slave had _created_ this? Nickel supposed he should be angry to learn the garage boy apparently took time off work to pursue some kind of hobby, using the estate’s equipment for crafting, but instead found himself intrigued by the notion a worker would… Well, put aside time to pursue a hobby, and do crafts. He turned it around in his hands. It might not be the most refined objet d’art he’d ever seen, but he had to admit it would take quite some skill to weld together this many nails into such a shape, and a certain amount of creativity and imagination, as well, to come up with the idea in the first place. 

He had certainly not expected such qualities, crudely expressed as they were, in a slave like Jonas. On some level, Nickel was almost impressed.

Nickel finally put the star of nails in Taven’s imploring hands, keeping his own up until he could get hold of a bar of soap. “Very well, if he made it… I suppose there’s no harm in such a ‘present’. Now, put this thing away and get ready. We should be on our way within the hour, or it’ll be dark before we arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	66. Spruce Trees

At first, the road trip was exciting. Taven sat up straight in the car seat and tried to look at everything. Farther north, though, there was nothing else to see than mile after mile, after shit boring miles, of forest. Taven realized soon enough that if you’d seen one snow-covered spruce tree, you’d seen them all. He started to feel drowsy and sank deeper into the comfortable car seat.

The last few weeks had been intense, and he was tired. 

His master had suddenly declared they would resume Taven’s attendance training. He’d enjoyed his concubine’s mere company too much, he’d explained, and had neglected preparing him for public appearances and other formal situations. In fact, he’d neglected teaching Taven the proper duties of a personal slave in a private setting, as well, satisfied with their sexual activities only. It just wouldn’t do, the man had said, frowning at him, there was going to be a change. 

Taven sighed to himself at the memory. Nickel hadn’t been kidding. They had spent hours every day on training him. Taven had learned how to walk and talk, stand and kneel, to serve at formal dinners and informal lunches. He’d learned how to put a coat on, and off, bring drinks, massage his master’s feet, serve him in the bath, and a million other stupid things. You couldn’t just do these things, either. Oh no. It all had to be done in ‘special ways’. 

It had been fucking awful.

Taven couldn’t even remember how many times during these weeks he’d broken down crying at how bad he was at fucking everything, how hard it was to remember all these things, and how fucking useless he felt. Nickel had been unusually impatient with him, as well, and wouldn’t believe his stupid slave was doing his fucking best, constantly demanding more, never letting up, and barking at him for the smallest mistakes. 

He hadn’t understood, at first. Nickel hadn’t seemed to care in months, but suddenly he turned into this angry slave trainer from hell? Then Ada’s chatter at lunch had eventually solved the mystery. It was soon Christmas, his master would drive up to the clan’s summerhouse in the mountains – which he apparently did every year – to spend the holidays with his father, and he would of course bring his concubine. Taven had gone cold all over when he’d finally understood. 

Nickel had resumed the training, and was being so strict about it, because he wanted his father to approve of his personal slave this time. 

It hadn’t made the training easier, quite the other way around. With the added pressure of knowing the old lord would scrutinize his skills and behavior, Taven did worse than ever. The thought of seeing the old man again only scared the shit out of him. Mr. Roth had explained how Nickel’s father was the man with the real power, and Taven was convinced he would give him no more chances. 

Taven hadn’t forgotten a word of what Serenity had told him either. Contracts, privileges and laws meant fucking nothing if a Head Lord was really out to get at you, and he didn’t know if his master could keep saving him. Obviously, Nickel was himself worried about this since he was drilling him so hard. 

Well, making Nickel _want_ to save him might have turned into Taven’s only motivation to learn in the end. If he could at least make his master somewhat pleased with his efforts, he would be surer of the man’s protection. Somehow, he’d made it through these weeks without falling apart completely, but he _was_ tired. 

Taven looked out the window, trying to stay awake, but he saw nothing but trees and snow, snow and trees, trees and… The constantly moving, but never changing, picture seemed to have an almost hypnotizing effect on him. His eyelids felt heavier and heavier…

\-----o0o-----

Nickel shot Taven a quick glance before concentrating on the winter roads again. He smiled; the boy had fallen asleep. Himself, he felt quite energetic and wasn’t tired at all. He enjoyed driving up here, and found it nice and cozy it was only the two of them, and not a whole caravan from the mansion as in the ‘old days’.

However, this year his usual good holiday mood was tainted with worry. His father might have given Taven the privileges, but he’d had his reasons, and it didn’t mean he thought the slave was suitable for… well, for anything, really. The Head Lord had never approved of his son’s choice, and it wasn’t likely to change in the near future. Nickel had thought he must still give it a good try, and had been training Taven intensely for the last few weeks.

Taven had been a troublesome student, as usual. The boy was quick to despair, utterly devoid of enthusiasm for any new thing presented to him, and was always ready to give up at the smallest of setbacks. Nickel had often had reason enough to tear at his hair, and the added pressure had made him less patient than usual. 

He’d been angry with Taven so many times for not trying harder, but in the end he had to admit the poor boy _was_ doing his best. Taven simply wasn’t better than this. Oh, the boy knew what to do. It might demand more repetition than one might think would ever be necessary before he remembered things, but eventually he got it, and did what he was told, quite often in the right order even. It was only it seemed impossible to teach Taven the attentiveness, the confident demureness and, above all, the gracefulness with which this kind of service should be performed. 

Nickel sighed deeply. Taven had done his best, and Nickel would have been satisfied with the boy being at least passable. The poor thing had been with him less than a year, and considering his background, it wouldn’t be fair to demand perfection of him so soon. 

However, he was sure his father would. 

His father would most likely claim the slave had been given plenty of time already, and would keep pointing out his severe lack of judgment, choosing someone who wasn’t only untrained, but _untrainable_. Nickel would never hear the end it. 

Deep down, Nickel feared his father was right, though, that was the worst part. 

The clan might not have owned an exotic in his lifetime, but Nickel had seen a few and he knew what kind of material the breeders were looking for. It was an expensive undertaking to train a child into a proper exotic, and they would be searching for much more than stunning looks and unusual traits. 

Such a child would need to have the right kind of temperament, be submissive, obedient, attentive and eager to please. It had to be possible to train them to move well, so they needed to be agile, well balanced and quick on their feet, too. Above all, they had to be intelligent and catch on quickly, so they could be sold at a young age, and not be kept in costly training long into adulthood. 

They wanted a Silas.

Nickel cast another quick look at Taven. It was easy to see why he’d once been considered. The cute freckled face with the expressive slate gray eyes, the delicate frame and the amazing red hair… Taven must have been such a stunning child. What breeder wouldn’t have wanted to test him for this kind of training? 

When Nickel had first found Taven at the slave market _that’s_ what he’d seen, a pretty, longhaired male exotic that for some strange reason had been chained up and beaten. It hadn’t made sense, and Taven’s behavior had made even less sense. Nickel had been shocked and intrigued in equal measures, as well as filled with compassion and rage. To destroy such an exquisite creature was unforgivable. What Swift had done to Taven was like cutting up an invaluable classic painting by one of the old masters, and peeing on it. 

Nickel had soon understood some of these damages were tragically irreparable, but up until these last few weeks of training he’d somehow still believed the exotic in Taven could at least be partially mended. He thought he knew now where his thinking had gone wrong. 

This entire time, Nickel had been convinced _all_ of Taven’s damages, problems and shortcomings were the result of the abuse he’d been through. It had to have been the case, since Taven _was_ a legally registered exotic, and a breeder would choose nothing less than a perfect child. He’d started to suspect things were a bit more complicated than that, and maybe Swift wasn’t entirely to blame. 

It might be true Taven’s aggressive behavior was the direct result of how he’d been treated, but his impulsive temperament overall, was probably something he was born with. His troubles with concentrating, lack of motor skills, and obvious learning disabilities might also be innate, and there simply _was_ no graceful and intelligent exotic hidden somewhere inside. 

No matter what his papers said, Taven wasn’t an exotic, other than in mere looks. 

It hurt him to admit, but it did make sense. Why else was the boy never trained and never offered to the upper classes?

Nickel could only speculate in what had happened. Maybe a young inexperienced slave trainer, an apprentice to a ‘big name’ breeder, had been the one to breed Taven. Perhaps, in their eagerness to prove themselves, they had managed to convince someone at the authorities to register Taven as an exotic, before testing him properly. Maybe this hypothetical trainer, new in the business, had simply been so enamored by the unusual colors, and the thought of what a stunning exotic the child could become, as well as the large provision they would earn at a successful sale to the clans, they had dismissed any early warning signs.

However, they must have realized their mistake before the training started.

To avoid the embarrassment and bad reputation of trying to sell a flawed exotic, the owner of the breeding facility had probably got rid of Taven as soon as he could, selling him cheaply to anyone living far enough away from their usual clientele. In doing so they had obviously also erased the information about their company in the boy’s papers, which otherwise might have been good advertisement.

Nickel simmered with anger at this made up scenario only. If he was correct, it meant they hadn’t cared one bit what happened to the ten-year-old Taven, if only they could hide their mistake. 

He took his eyes away from the road once again and watched the sleeping boy for a dangerously long time. It wasn’t Taven’s fault he’d been incorrectly categorized, but he had paid dearly for it. 

Well, it was too late to correct now. Taven was already his personal slave, his attendant, his _concubine_, and the boy simply had to function as one. Nickel had no other choice than to keep pushing the poor thing beyond his abilities. 

He regretted he had to be so demanding, because by now the truth about Taven meant very little to Nickel on a personal level. He kept throwing glances at the boy, what did he care if Taven could barely read, couldn’t write much more than his own name in sprawling letters, and would never be able to solve a math problem? Taven being a bad student didn’t mean he was stupid, that Nickel couldn’t hold conversations with the boy, or reason with him. 

The Wren concubine would maybe never be the graceful attendant either, but he had some moves in bed, all right. Taven’s body had some unseemly damages, but Nickel was learning to see beyond the marks. Sure, the boy could be troublesome at times, too, in many annoying and infuriating ways, but then, Nickel never lacked challenges. 

Above all, Nickel dearly wished Taven wouldn’t suffer so from his past. It had been a struggle, both physically and mentally, and hard to deal with for them both. However, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing he’d seen how things could be out there, and the good days _were_ starting to win out, weren’t they?

No, realizing the truth wasn’t a problem, not to Nickel. Taven was a ‘fake exotic’, what did it matter? He was a ‘true Taven’, and that was all Nickel had come to care about. 

He sighed again. This wasn’t in fact what bothered him, he realized, now that the quiet car ride gave him time to think things through. No, what really bothered him was how long it had taken him to see this at all.

Nickel’s whole worldview was based on the fact people _were_ categorized, that people were, somehow, in their right place, and it was something he’d never truly questioned. In older times, this had of course been attributed to divine will, but Nickel didn’t believe in such. Nor was he so naïve to think it constituted the best of all worlds, but it _was_ still the state of things, and surely, it hadn’t developed entirely without reason. 

They couldn’t all be kings, after all, and total equality was a silly pipe dream. 

He admitted it was easy for him to accept, seeing as he’d been born into riches and privileges, and how he would probably have had more reason to question this natural order of things had he been born working class. However, every class had its advantages and disadvantages, and if lower classes knew the weight of responsibility of the upper classes, maybe they’d be less envious. 

Besides, the boundaries were no longer so impossible to cross. You thought you’d been ‘wrongly categorized’ here in life? Well, there were chances to prove it. Just look at Roth, Nickel thought, proud of his friend. He’d been born into humble conditions, but he’d worked hard, resisted the temptations of his bad neighborhood, studied, and made something of himself. Yes, in this day and age determination and hard work could take you places… unless you were a slave, of course.

After reading that book, Nickel could no longer deny the unfairness of denying a whole class of people the same chances of proving themselves. Granted, freeing a slave was legally possible, and once given full citizenship they had the same rights as everybody else. However, they couldn’t themselves apply to be given such a chance, and there were so many obstacles in their way, even with the support of a generous owner, a decent life in freedom would be hard to achieve. There were exceptions on an individual level, of course, but as a class, they were pretty much stuck. 

He knew now, this was by design and not part of a ‘natural order of things’. 

Roth had ‘demanded’ he’d do something about it. Nickel frowned at the memory, what did his friend expect of him? He had no power to change a whole society that – naturally, or by design – had developed over hundreds of years. 

However, maybe that’s not what Roth had meant? The Wren estate was their society in miniature, after all, wasn’t it? A miniature society where he did have a substantial amount of power. 

The same kind of class division existed among the slaves, and Nickel had certainly never once questioned _that_. It seemed perfectly natural to him how there was a world of difference between a slave like Serenity, and a worker such as Bruno. It would completely fly in the face of logic to claim a fine pedigreed thoroughbred horse was the same as a workhorse, after all, and could serve the same purpose, or that an old truck would be as valuable as a vintage sports car in mint condition. Likewise, there was a reason slaves were in different places, and you couldn’t be expected to treat them all the same, because they _weren’t_ the same.

Nor could you blame the master for forming an attachment to his more aesthetically pleasing and pleasurable belongings, Nickel thought. Perhaps a truck was more useful, but people are irrational. They’ll lust for the elegant car with the flawless paintwork, the sleek lines and the shiny chrome, no matter how much more use they’d have for a truck. Yes, it was only natural a pretty and pleasant slave would be allowed an easier life. It didn’t mean one should treat the rest cruelly, and _he_ most certainly wasn’t.

Nickel frowned. He saw no reason to mess with the system, and the chaos that would be sure to follow would benefit no one, neither owners nor slaves. 

He trusted in the validity of this system, but when it came to Taven, he had to admit it had led him astray. For the longest time Nickel had been unable to see the boy wasn’t what he seemed, and now Taven’s insistence on friendship with a simple worker had made him doubt _that_ boy’s place as well. 

Nickel had thought Jonas the simplest and crudest kind of worker, a slave who was somewhat slow in the head, and would forever only be useful for menial tasks. The evidence was mounting up this wasn’t the case. Bruno _had_ informed him Jonas was learning quickly and was becoming a good mechanic in his own right, and the boy’s gift to Taven proved he was creative and was actively looking to enrich his life with a hobby. Just as with Taven, it could be Jonas only _looked_ the part, but was in fact something else. 

Once he’d gotten this far, Nickel had to admit he found this conclusion as logic. Slaves would be a bit more complex than horses or cars, after all, and quite a few of them might in fact defy such rigid classification. Maybe such parting up in categories was, in reality, a clunky and crude system, making him miss all kinds of good and useful qualities among the workers. Thinking of it in this way, it somewhat disturbed Nickel just how much he relied on looks and first impressions – though he’d fancied himself progressive, talking with the young slaves about their future work – to make decisions that would cement someone’s destiny for life. 

If it was Jonas Nickel had found at the slave market, chained and beaten, with dried up blood in a bruised face… Would he have stopped by his cell and asked about him, or would he have turned a blind eye and walked by? Was it, in fact, only Taven’s delicate exotic looks that had made Nickel think it would be worth it to take on such a bundle of problems? 

Nickel imagined finding two abandoned and run down cars in need of rescue, one being a sports car, and the other a truck. He knew without a doubt what he would have done in a case like that. He would of course have chosen to rescue the sports car. It would have been worth all the work and money to renovate a rare find, and restore it back to its former glory. What use would there be in fixing up a broken down truck? It would be easier, and more affordable, to buy a new one. He’d walk by.

Was _that_ how he would have viewed Jonas in Taven’s situation? Like a broken truck? Nickel didn’t want to believe so, but he admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure. He cast another glance at the sleeping Taven, frowning at him. Maybe his old self _would_ have walked by, but, in that case, Taven had made him see things differently. He promised himself, further on, he would look more into how to get to know the slaves of the estate better, and perhaps allow them some movement across the boundaries.

Nickel drove along the icy roads, his thoughts rushing through his head with the same speed as the snow-covered spruce trees out of the corner of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	67. The House in the Mountains

Taven woke with a start when someone shook him by the shoulder. He looked up at his master in confusion and shivered at the cold wind that hit him in the face through the open car door. “Are we there already?” he asked, yawning and blinking against the harsh low-standing sunlight. How long had he been sleeping? 

“Not yet,” Nickel said, smiling eagerly. ”I only wanted to show you something. Come on, sleepyhead, get out of the car!”

Taven did as ordered, no less confused. They had parked at a rest stop, at what looked like the end of the world. There was absolutely nothing here but trees. This didn’t seem to bother his master, who promptly turned away from him and went straight into the woods. Taven had no desire to stay alone at the side of the road and hurried to follow, wondering if his master was nuts.

They walked a narrow trail, snow clinging to their feet in heavy clumps, tall trees darkening their path, but then, only a few minutes later, the world opened up before them. Taven stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Awestruck. 

He couldn’t have imagined such a view in his wildest dreams. 

His master urged him out onto a fenced-in cliff edge where there was a better view of the enormous canyon before them, a roaring river coursing through deep below. The ice had yet to conquer the moving water, but everything else was covered in a pristine coat of snow, frost and ice, sparkling in the sun, and beyond, tall jagged mountaintops, as far as the eye could see, under a cloudless blue sky. 

They were both struck silent by the sheer magnificence of such a wild landscape, and for several heartbeats neither of them moved or spoke. Finally, Nickel broke the spell. “We’ve made a rest stop at this canyon every year since I was a child, and I’m still as awed. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

Taven silently shook his head, making sure he didn’t step closer to the fence; he was dizzy enough as it was, his head spinning at the depth of the canyon, the wide arch of the sky, and at how far off into the distance he could see. 

Nickel put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Of course you haven’t,” he said, sadness in his voice. He put a gloved hand to Taven’s cheek, gently forced his eyes away from the view and kissed him. 

Taven never hesitated to respond eagerly to a kiss from his master, and he didn’t seem to have disappointed this time either. Nickel’s expression was full of tenderness as he finally pulled away, and he sighed a little. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said, looking him deep in the eyes and caressing his cheek. 

“Uh, but, you kiss me all the time, Master,” Taven said. 

Nickel laughed a little. “Of course I do. I meant I’ve always wanted to bring someone… special here, and… You see, kissing before a view like this… Well, it’s very romantic, isn’t it?”

Taven didn’t know what to say to that. Was it? Maybe it was; what would he know of romantic stuff? He agreed, though, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as this, and his thoughts went to Jonas. 

He would have wanted to see this, too, but he’d never get the chance. Jonas was forever confined to the estate. Hell, their master wouldn’t even let him leave the garage these days. Taven would have to try to describe this to him instead, when they got back home, though he already knew he’d never have words enough. 

Jonas would have to keep dreaming only.

\-----o0o-----

They reached their destination about an hour later, but the old lord’s home turned out to be nothing like Taven had expected.

The Wren Mansion was a huge, boxy, white-plastered building with wings. It was strict, formal and ancient with a carved sandstone entry around double doors so large they seemed made for giants to pass through. The Wren summerhouse, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different, being a green-painted wooden villa that was anything but boxy. There were glazed porches, balconies, bay windows and winding stairs. It had pointy gables, intricate white and blue-painted woodwork, looking like lace, fitted into every nook and cranny, and even an eight-sided tower sticking up over a likewise green roof. 

Taven stared at the quirky, colorful house. He’d never seen anything like it. 

He wasn’t given much time to ogle. They might have been spotted already coming up the serpentine road. As soon as they got out of the car, it seemed every slave in the house came out to greet the young master and empty the car. Taven shyly hid behind Nickel’s back, hoping to be ignored. He was.

“_Father_?

Taven hadn’t expected the old lord to come outside as well. However, his master ran up the stairs and left him behind at the sight of the Head Lord stepping out the front door. “What happened?” Nickel gasped, the old man leaning heavily on a cane with a bandaged ankle obviously being the cause of his worried question. 

The Head Lord irritably pushed away his son’s supporting hands. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he answered. “It’s only a light sprain. Damn inconvenient, but according to the village quack, I’ll be fine in a few weeks. I’ve told that cursed idiot of a slave to sand these icy steps _properly_, but… Well, he’s an idiot, isn’t he? John missed a spot, and, here I am… For goodness sake, son, can’t you see I can manage perfectly well on my own.” 

Again, the old man tried to slap his son’s hands away, but Nickel ignored the grumpy dismissal and kept a firm hand on his father’s elbow as they turned to walk inside. 

Taven was about to follow, but the old lord looked back over his shoulder and gave him such an angry scowl it froze him in place. 

The slaves from the house filed past him up the stairs, some of them carrying their suitcases, but the last of them, a young woman, halted with her hand on the door handle and turned to him. “You’re not going to just stand out here in the cold, are you?” She asked. 

He guessed he wasn’t, so he snapped out of it and followed her inside. 

By the time he closed the door behind him, all the others had already disappeared into the house. Taven was alone in the narrow hallway, and had no idea where his master had gone, or where he could find someone to ask directions. He looked down on his feet, should he leave his snowy boots here? After some hesitation, he stepped out of them, but when he looked up again, he realized he was no longer alone. The old lord was standing farther down the hallway, staring at him, a grim expression on his face. Taven backed up against the front door, and when the old man moved and came limping toward him, the cane tapping against the floorboards at every step, his heart started to beat like a jackhammer. 

Where _was_ his master?

Coming all the way up to Taven, the Head Lord lifted his cane and tapped the silver handle against his chest. “So, I see he brought _you_. Have you learned to behave then, slave, so you can be safely kept among civilized people?”

Taven’s mouth turned dry. “Y- yes, Master,” he managed, without much hope of being believed. He was near tears, thinking he was doomed before he’d even got in the house. 

“Well, it remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” The old man kept tapping the handle against his chest, making him flinch at every move. “Are you actually capable of feeling any shame at all for your former behavior?” he asked further.

“Yeah, I did… I- I do. I swear…”

“Don’t swear!” the old lord interrupted. “You’ve done quite enough of that. Now, am I too optimistic in hoping for an adequate explanation of said behavior?”

“Uh?” Taven couldn’t answer; he wasn’t sure what the old man was asking. Adi…? What?

Old Lord Wren sighed deeply and impatiently tapped the floor with the butt end of the cane. “Why did you act the way you did in the gardens back home, slave?” he demanded, obviously annoyed at having to ‘dumb it down’ for the stupid slave before him. 

Taven hung his head. There was probably nothing he could say to save himself; he might as well just tell the old bastard the truth. “I… It was kinda… Some things sorta happened, and- and I thought Master didn’t want me anymore,” he murmured. ”I just felt like a fucking idiot that someone saw me crying about it, and… I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t get who you were. I thought you were the old gardener, trying to get at me… Me being dumped, and all, and- and I… I _am_ sorry, Master. It was just I was kinda scared the gardener would... I should have known who you were, but… I- I ain’t that smart...”

The hallway turned quiet. 

“You thought you had been discarded?” the old lord finally said. “And you believed this meant the other slaves would ‘get at you’?”

Taven nodded without looking up. 

“Do you deserve being ‘get at’?” 

“Uh... I… I don’t know, Master,” Taven answered, thinking back at Sarah, calling him an asshole while Jonas defended him. He really wasn’t sure if he actually was one, or not. 

“I see,” the old lord said. “Well, remarkably enough it seems there _is_ actually some kind of rationale behind your atrocious behavior, but you do realize it’s not an excuse? I hope you understand how lucky you are my son is in possession of such a good heart, slave, or you wouldn’t have escaped from that incident unscarred.”

Taven very nearly gave up a sneer, as if a few more scars would make a difference. Instead, he hung his head deeper. The old lord didn’t need to remind him he had his master to thank for everything. 

“Father?” 

Taven looked up, finally, his master. 

Nickel came down the hallway with long strides, and quickly reached around his father’s wide girth to pull Taven away from the door. “Where have you been?” he chided. “You’re to stay close! No dawdling, boy, you hear?”

“Yes, Master,” Taven said, too relieved at being ‘rescued’ from the old lord to care about the unfair reprimand.

Nickel pushed him behind his back. “I’ll be in my room, father,” he said. “Changing for supper, unless you need me to…”

“No, no,” the old lord interrupted. “I’ll manage. Go ahead!”

Nickel hurried away, pulling Taven with him. It was clear he didn’t want his slave left alone with his father anymore than Taven wanted to _be_ left alone with the Head Lord. Still, now that he thought of it, a part of him almost wished his master hadn’t turned up when he did, in case the old man had been about to tell him what really lay in store for him. In a way, it would have been better just to know.

\-----o0o-----

The fire was nice.

Taven had never sat in front of an open fire before. It was oddly soothing, with the warmth and all. He was lost in watching the flickering flames and found himself relaxing at the crackling sounds. It smelled good, too. 

Earlier, they had settled into an upstairs room his master explained had been his bedroom here since he’d been a small child, and that he used to share with his brother. Now, he’d share it with his concubine. The house was too small to give Taven a room of his own, which he was relieved about. He didn’t know anyone here, and would be content to stay close to Nickel’s side the entire time, even if it meant spending this evening with the old lord. 

It was tradition in their clan, Nickel had said, that the family had an evening gathering in front the fire on Christmas Eve. It was normally preserved for the closest family only, but a few attending slaves were usually also present. A concubine would definitely be expected to attend, his master had explained to a very nervous Taven. 

He was relieved, though, when he realized just how small and informal this gathering would really be, and that he didn’t have to do anything. Except for himself, there were only three persons in the room: Nickel, his father, and the old lord’s personal slave, who was the one put to serve their masters tonight. Taven was still nervous; convinced any kind of mistake would be noticed, and harshly judged. 

As for now, he was allowed to sit on a cushion at his master’s feet and felt fairly confident it wasn’t possible to fuck up only staring into the fireplace. The Head Lord and his son reclined in comfortable armchairs before the same fire, the old man resting his injured ankle on a footstool, his cane leaning against the armrest. 

Taven kept a wary eye on that cane. 

The two free men in the room were small talking above his head, but Taven soon enough tuned them out. He was bored and the warmth started to make him drowsy. Moving closer to his master’s legs to avoid the heat, Taven shifted his gaze from the flames to see what the old lord’s slave was doing. It wouldn’t do to nod off; he had to find _something_ to do. 

He was surprised he hadn’t noticed before how old the other slave was. Maybe he wasn’t as old as the Head Lord he served, but he must be at least fifty, Taven thought. The man was dressed like a boy in spite of his age, barefooted in knee-length pants with a short jacket, and unassumingly stood behind his master’s chair, arms clasped behind his straight back, his eyes focused on nothing. 

Taven soon realized this seemingly vacant and ‘far away stare’ didn’t mean the old slave wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings as he jumped to serve their masters’ wishes at the slightest move from either of them. He refilled glasses, adjusted pillows, and held out bowls of snacks at no orders Taven could detect. 

What the fuck? Was the old slave a mind reader? Taven doubted he’d ever manage anything similar. He glanced up at his master. Was _this_ what Nickel wanted from him? 

Taven kept staring at the other slave, noting that the man didn’t look bad, really, not for being so old, at least. He had close-cropped gray hair, which started to thin out on top, but he had a handsome face, in spite of the wrinkles, and a still lean frame. Yeah, the guy must have looked real hot in his youth, Taven thought, fit and straight-nosed with eyes as piercingly blue as Serenity’s. He caught himself wondering if the old slave had used to be his master’s bed slave once, too. He probably had, Taven concluded. It was kind of a comforting thought, since, obviously, the slave hadn’t been discarded only because he wasn’t a pretty boy anymore. 

Maybe, if he became better at serving, he wouldn’t be discarded either, when he got old and Nickel tired of fucking him. 

The old slave refilled Nickel’s glass, but this time his master took a moment to acknowledge him. “Thank you, Virgil,” he said. “How’s your back? Is it giving you much trouble?”

For a few seconds the slave’s blank ‘serving face’ cracked open into a smile. “It’s quite well at the moment, Young Master, thank you,” he answered, bowing before slipping back into position behind the Head Lord’s chair. 

So, Taven thought, now he knew the old slave’s name. He hugged his knees where he sat, bitterly thinking that the Head Lord wouldn’t take away _that_ guy’s name. Himself, he would be nameless during this visit. He’d been warned his master would be very careful not to call him ‘Taven’. Nickel had admitted he was afraid he’d slip up within earshot of his father, and would do his best not to use the name even when they were alone. Taven understood, but it still fucking hurt. 

He hoped no one else in the house would ask him his name. Taven had no idea what the fuck to answer if they did, and he’d do his best to stay away from everybody, to avoid it.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel relaxed into his armchair with a content sigh. He loved this house. Compared to the mansion it was so informal and undemanding, built and furnished for comfort and recreation, rather than for show. The small lounge was cozy and inviting, and they were sipping sweet liqueur in front of the fireplace.

He could have done without the drink, by all means. It was much too sweet a beverage for his tastes, but it was tradition. These days, since the closest family was so drastically reduced to only his father and himself, traditions seemed more important. 

Nickel would drink the liqueur. 

The lingering, sticky taste in his mouth was his only complaint, Nickel thought, looking about the familiar room while he listened with only half an ear at his father gossiping about the ‘backward’ people in the picturesque mountain village a few miles down the road, which was their closest neighbor. It really was an awfully idyllic evening. Outside the windows, huge snowflakes fell from a black night sky, while the fire warmed their feet. Taven leaned affectionately against his legs, and there were no lingering hard feelings from the unfortunate summer visit, between his father and him.

Not at first, at least.

“So,” Nickel said, trying to engage more in the conversation, “What creative excuse did my dear cousin try this time not to have to come up here?”

“Nickel,” his father chided. “I’m quite sure Leonard really did have the flu last year. He sounded absolutely dreadful on the phone.”

He only smiled at that. Leonard hated the mountains and usually spent most of the holiday complaining about the isolation and the cold, if he didn’t manage to fake a flu convincing enough not to earn his uncle’s ire staying at home, that is.

“I’ll have you know,” his father said in reply to his ill-concealed grin, “that he and Gertrude have been staying up at the ski resort for a week already. We will not miss their company at dinner tomorrow.”

“The ski resort? Leonard?” Now Nickel had to laugh. Gertrude was a keen and skilled skier, and if she had managed to convince Leonard to stay at the resort, she was probably as happy right now, as _he_ was, without a doubt, absolutely miserable. 

“Unfortunately Richard and Robert _won’t_ come home for the holidays this year,” his father went on, frowning. “Not coming home for Christmas…” he muttered. “The youth of today have _no_ respect for tradition.”

Nickel put the glass to his lips and smiled around the awful liqueur. Leonard’s sons shared their father’s distaste for the cold and snow, and shared none of their mother’s interest in winter sports. “Oh, they’re only young once,” he argued. “Studying abroad… It’s an adventure. Let them make the most of it, they’ll be back soon enough.” 

Back, and trapped, Nickel thought. Once, he would have liked to study abroad, too…

“I suppose,” his father conceded. “Well, at least we’ll have a guest this year,” he suddenly announced, brightening up again.

“Oh?” Nickel said. “Who?” 

“It’s a most delightful young lady from the Moon clan, by the name of Cecilia,” his father answered, smiling widely. 

Nickel sat up straight in the chair at the Head Lord’s pleased demeanor. “A young lady…? From the…? Father! You _didn’t_?” He held out the half-emptied liqueur glass to Virgil and angrily pushed it into his hands when the slave hurried up to his chair to take it. “You _promised_ not to interfere. You gave me four years.” 

His father’s expression changed into a deep scowl. “I’m hardly interfering, son. It just so happens the young lady is staying at the ski resort, as well. Are you under the impression I conspired to make her go on vacation here? I learned from Gertrude she’s on her own, away from her clan on Christmas. Should I then not have invited her?”

Nickel leaned back in the chair again, eyeing his father with not so little suspicion. He didn’t know what to think. Although it wasn’t likely his father was conspiring against him to arrange a marriage with the Moon clan behind his back, it _was_ hard to believe there was no ulterior motive to the invitation at all. 

Besides, the name Cecilia Moon sounded awfully familiar, and didn’t evoke a pleasant memory. Wasn’t it that blond lady he’d met at The Club earlier this spring? The one who had laughed at Taven? If his father thought he would ever marry _her_, then he had another think coming, and… Oh, wait, wasn’t she already engaged? Yes, Nickel had been a bit drunk at the time, but he clearly remembered the rude young lord the Moon lady had ‘imported’ from some clan down south he’d never even heard of. Maybe his father really _had_ invited her in all innocence after all then.

On the other hand, would a young lady, especially one as beautiful as her, used to company and attention, go away for Christmas on her own, leaving her handsome fiancé behind? Not likely. Maybe the engagement had been called off, and she’d left for the mountains to ‘lick her wounds’ in private? It could be his father knew exactly what kind of situation he was now able to take advantage of. 

Nickel frowned. He wouldn’t be so easily trapped. 

His father gave him a placating smile. “Nickel, it’s a dinner, there are no obligations. Just try to have a nice time, and be polite!”

Nickel’s frown deepened; of course he would be polite, he wasn’t a child. He gave a reluctant nod in reply.

The Head Lord seemed satisfied with that, holding his hand out for another refill from Virgil, while Nickel looked down to the boy at his feet. Had Taven figured out what they were talking about? The last thing he wanted was for his concubine to find out about his future marriage in this way, but though the boy seemed wary at their arguing voices, he didn’t look as if he understood where it was coming from. 

His father shifted his newly refilled glass over to his other hand, grabbed his cane, huffed, and puffed as he leaned over and poked at Taven’s arm with it. “Can’t you see the fire is going out, slave?” he said. “Put another log on!”

Taven startled violently at the poke and raised his arms over his head as if he expected to be beaten. Nickel couldn’t really blame him for being skittish, and his hand came down to pat Taven’s shoulder, a calming gesture that made his father frown.

To Taven’s credit, he gathered himself quickly and no orders had to be repeated. The boy scrambled over on his knees to a basket of firewood and grabbed a log, but he hesitated to put it on the fire. Maybe he was scared of burning his fingers. After several attempts, Taven lost the grip of the log and it crashed through the flames, causing sparks and embers to fly out onto the carpet between their feet in a glowing spray. 

“For goodness sake, slave!” The old lord angrily stomped the butt end of his cane against the floorboards. “Nickel, how can you _stand_ having that creature any way near you?”

Taven shrank back against his legs, while Virgil quickly grabbed a napkin from a sideboard and wet it in a pitcher of water. Going to his knees between them, he suffocated the embers still glowing on the carpet, and tried to clean up the mess. 

“Really,” his father huffed. ”Even putting a log on a fire is too big a task for that- that…” 

Nickel was glad he didn’t finish the sentence. “Father,” he pleaded. “He’s trying.”

The old lord mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, scowling at them both in turn. Clearly still annoyed he chased the kneeling Virgil out of the way with his cane and poked at the carpet, looking for damages. “I probably have to have the carpet repaired. You do know it’s an antique. Such a nuisance. I suppose I might as well go to bed.”

“He didn’t mean to ruin the carpet, father, or the mood,” Nickel said, trying his best to keep his own irritation out of his voice. It had been a simple accident. His father _wanted_ to find faults with his concubine. 

“Had I thought he did it on _purpose_…” the Head Lord muttered. However, his father didn’t finish that sentence either. He sighed and forced a smile, a strained stretch of the lips, which nevertheless turned into a genuine, albeit a tired, one. “The mood isn’t ruined,” he said. “I feel my years, that’s all, and the liqueur is starting to get to my head. It’s time for the old ones to retire.” He shifted in the armchair. “Virgil!”

Nickel watched Virgil helping his master get up. It was no wonder the slave had a bad back. His father was considerably heavier than the lean Virgil, and supporting him daily in similar ways must wear on a man who wasn’t that young anymore himself. 

His father gingerly tested his bad ankle with the support of the cane on one side, and Virgil on the other, before seemingly deciding he was prepared to limp away. The Head Lord turned to him. “Goodnight, Nickel,” he said. There was no mistaking the warmth in his eyes now. 

“Goodnight, father,” Nickel replied, the same warmth in his voice. His father was trying, too. 

The room fell silent when the Head Lord had left and Virgil closed the door behind them, but then there was a shame-filled and tentative voice at his feet.

“I… I’m sorry, Master,” Taven said.

Nickel sighed and put a consoling hand on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
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> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
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> /Fran


	68. Christmas

Nickel woke up from a creak in the floorboards and the faint sound of his bedroom door clicking shut, but when he rose on his elbow and looked about, there was no one in the room. Well, except for Taven, but he was sleeping soundly at his side with one arm curled around his waist. At first, he thought he might have dreamed the whole thing, but then he spotted it. His father had sent a maid in to hang a bright red stocking from the mantelpiece. 

He carefully freed himself from Taven’s grip and sat up at the bedside, smiling and shaking his head. That was what his parents used to do when his brother and he were little, but he wasn’t a child anymore. In addition, a few years back, he and his father had decided to stop giving gifts for Christmas and birthdays. They already had everything they needed, and more. 

Nickel still eagerly crossed the room and stuck his hand down the stocking, gripped by childish curiosity. He pulled up a fancy velvet gift box and found a watch inside. His father shouldn’t have, he already had a good watch. He put it on anyway and held his arm out. It was a very expensive watch, and he had to admit he liked it more than his old one. 

Maybe it was meant as a peace offering. 

In the meantime, Taven had woken up, too. He slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position, yawning and looking at him with bleary eyes. “Uh, Master,” he said. “Why was your watch in a sock?”

Nickel raised an eyebrow, he really had never thought about how strange this tradition was. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, having no answer. “What do you say,” he said instead, “if, after breakfast, we went out in the snow?” He kept smiling at Taven’s less than enthusiastic expression at the suggestion, but at least there were no protests. Some fresh winter air would be good for the boy, Nickel thought; it would put some much-needed color on his pale cheeks.

\-----o0o-----

Taven had never known snow like this.

Growing up in the South End, all the snow he’d ever seen, usually through a dirty window, had been sloshed and dark gray from the many feet, passing cars and pollution. It had been nothing like the sparkling white fluff that covered this yard. Okay, the snow at the mansion was also cleaner than in the city, but it just covered the ground. Here, the snow was almost up to his knees. He’d never seen so fucking much of it either. All right, it was nice to look at, he had to admit, but it was beauty best viewed from inside in his opinion, as it was as bitingly cold as it was pretty. 

Even in his warm winter coat and with a big green knitted cap pressed down over his ears, he shivered. His cheeks stung, his nose was runny, and every breath he took stood like a cloud in front of him. He’d never imagined cold such as this could even exist. 

In spite of this, his master seemed to enjoy himself, trudging about in the snow, taking deep breaths. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?” he said. “The air up here, it’s so… clean. Come on! Don’t look so miserable! We’ve only been outside for a few minutes and it isn’t _that_ cold.”

“I ain’t talking back, or anything,” Taven said, his teeth chattering. “But it’s fucking _cold_, Master.”

“Oh, you just need to move around a bit,” Nickel said, and before Taven knew what was going on his master scoped up a handful of snow from the ground, squeezed it between his gloved palms and _threw it at him_. A big lump hit him on the shoulder, and he stared at the snow clinging to his coat, looking back at Nickel in incredulity. What? Why was his master throwing things at him? What had he done? Was Nickel angry? He didn’t look angry, but…

Nickel’s wide smile disappeared. “But, no… No, no, I wasn’t… I was only playing. It’s a game, one we used to play as kids. Make soft balls out of snow, so it won’t hurt, and try to aim and hit the others. Chase the others around, try to duck from the snowballs coming at you. Know what I mean? It’s for fun, it’s a game.” 

Oh, it was a _game_. Kid’s play, yes, free kids did stuff like that, Taven knew that. He’d never really played himself – when would he have ever been allowed to – but he knew what it was. He grinned a little. Okay, so, if it was a game and Nickel thought it was fun, then, sure, he could do that. The rules didn’t seem hard either; you were only supposed to hit the other while avoiding being hit yourself. Yeah, he got it now. 

Taven crouched down and pushed together a hefty lump of snow that he formed into a big loose ball between his hands, and then he quickly got back up to throw it. He put all his strength into it, too, not really knowing how much force such a thing would require. 

The snowball hit his master square in the face. 

Taven must have used more force than necessary, or Nickel had simply not been prepared. His master stumbled backwards at the hit and tripped over a snow-covered bush, his feet comically sticking up through a big cloud of snow as he crashed through the twigs. He fought to free himself from the snaring branches, sputtering and swearing, and when he finally managed to roll out of the bush, he was all red in the face, and covered in snow from head to toe.

Alarmed at what he’d just done, Taven rushed up to his master, still on his ass in the snow, looking both angry and confused. “I’m sorry!” he yelled, pulling at Nickel’s arm, trying to help. “Master, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw it so fucking hard. I didn’t think I’d…” 

Nickel interrupted him by pulling him down into the snow beside him, Taven giving up a startled yelp at the unexpected move, but surprisingly enough his master didn’t seem angry, after all. In fact, the man was laughing so hard he was barely able to speak. 

“Damn it, boy,” he finally managed, trying to catch his breath. “That’s quite some aim. Bulls Eye, eh?” 

Taven tentatively laughed a little, too, when Nickel pulled him closer with an arm around his neck and playfully pulled the cap down over his eyes. 

It was all right, it was still a game.

\-----o0o-----

Old Lord Wren watched his son through his bedroom window with a groan. That was a very nice piece of topiary he’d spent the last three years meticulously clipping and shaping, and Nickel might just have completely destroyed it.

He frowned and shook his head. Horsing about in such a carefree manner with that slave boy was simply not appropriate. His son should know better. Well, a privileged concubine might be shown a bit more intimacy than an ordinary slave, even in the open, but this was going too far. Any slave, even a privileged one, should know their place and never be made to doubt it. Such behavior as his son was displaying might make a slave confused about said place. 

Considering that boy already seemed confused about most things…

Old Lord Wren kept shaking his head. In his father’s days this wouldn’t have been accepted, something he himself had been made painfully aware of at an early age. 

He had only been eight years old, but the memory was as vivid as the scene outside his window. It had been a balmy summer evening; he’d managed to escape his tutor’s demands, and had fled for the gardens. Out there, far from the house, he’d run into another boy his own age. Yes, he’d understood it was one of the worker’s children, but in that moment, away from any disapproving eyes, it hadn’t seemed to matter. After a few awkward and shy attempts at speaking with each other, they had soon forgotten the wide rift between them, and done what children are wont to do, simply had fun. There had been no slaves or masters that evening, only two children playing tag between large old oak trees, laughing and shrieking with joy. 

They had been found out.

For the first time in his life, the Head Lord had punished him with a leather belt to his bare backside, leaving him bruised and bleeding. He’d considered the humiliation as bad as the pain, and had hated the man he was required to call father. 

Well, he’d learnt his lesson. He’d never played with the slave children again, and had behaved with dignity from that day on, as was befitting of a lord, even one of only eight.

It wasn’t until years later he learned that the crippled young slave he now and then could spot from afar – who’s badly injured spine brought him a premature death already in his teens – was the same boy he’d once played with. That was also the moment he’d understood who had received the most brutal beating that night for their stolen playtime, and it wasn’t himself. 

When free people didn’t consider the consequences of their actions, slaves suffered. He should have known, running away from his schoolwork, they’d come looking for him, but he hadn’t cared, and so the literal backbreaking caning of that innocent child would forever be on his conscience. 

Well, he supposed he should have thanked his old tyrant of a father for the additional lesson, he’d kept a healthy distance to the clan’s slaves ever since. 

Old Lord Wren once again shook his head at his son playing with that redheaded menace, throwing snowballs, and ruining his topiary. Maybe he should have been harder on Nickel as a child, for his own good. However, he was not made of that material. 

Never once had he laid a hand on either of his sons. The thought of them having the same kind of hate in their hearts toward him that he’d had for his own father, was unbearable. 

Nickel had never met his grandfather. Since he had had children so late in life, his own father had already passed years before. Maybe it was for the best. His father wouldn’t have looked kindly on how he’d raised his remaining son.

Well, his father was dead and buried long ago, and he didn’t have to hear his criticizing voice questioning and demeaning the swelling pride he felt for that fine young man sitting in the snow below his bedroom window. In sharp contrast to his own father, all _he_ had ever wanted was his son’s happiness.

Nickel did indeed look happy, hugging that slave close in the snow… 

Old Lord Wren limped away from the window and sat down heavily in an armchair with a deep sigh. He could only hope Nickel knew what he was doing.

\-----o0o-----

He watched the boy from where he was seated on the couch.

Silas was unpacking boxes of Christmas ornaments with such a serious expression as if he’d gotten an assignment from the king concerning the safety of the nation. A little while earlier, Roth had told Silas he’d been given the ‘honorable mission’ of decorating the tree he’d bought and put up in their living room. The little slave had got right to it. Going about it the same way he did everything else, as if his entire life in his new master’s service depended on it. 

Roth shook his head. 

He felt bad about leaving the kid alone on Christmas, but had decided it was still for the best. Silas would be intimidated by his boisterous relatives and his family would feel uncomfortable with a slave around. Next Christmas, maybe, but for now, Silas would surely be fine on his own for only a few hours. Then Roth had remembered how much he’d enjoyed decorating the tree when _he_ had been a kid. He’d wanted to give Silas something nice to do while he was away, to get him at least a little bit in the holiday mood. Roth now realized his mistake. 

First, Silas was fourteen, and by that age, Roth probably hadn’t thought decorating the tree was that fun anymore. Besides, it had never been so much about the tree, as doing something together with his sister and his parents in anticipation of a nice night to come, with relatives coming over, his mother’s cooking, a few precious gifts, cartoons on the TV, and lots of candy. 

Silas had never had a family, and it wasn’t likely he’d ever been included in someone’s holiday celebrations. To him, activities like decorating a Christmas tree wouldn’t carry the same kind of connotations. Roth had only managed to burden Silas with a meaningless assignment he would now worry about doing correctly. 

Well, Roth didn’t have time to explain his intention and change ‘the order’. He was late already, and his mother wouldn’t approve if he weren’t on time for Christmas dinner. Roth got up from the couch. “Well, I guess I’ll be going,” he said, shaking his head when Silas stopped what he was doing and looked like he prepared to follow him to the door. “No, no, I’ll see myself out. Just try to have a nice night, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Remember, tonight, you can treat yourself with whatever you want from the fridge, just don’t give the cat too many treats. Don’t stress about the tree, you hear? It’s supposed to be fun, and… Well, Merry Christmas, Silas!” Roth ended his little speech, smiling and ruffling Silas’ hair.

Silas bowed his head under his hand. ”Merry Christmas, Master,” he replied politely. 

Roth doubted the words held any kind of meaning to the boy.

\-----o0o-----

They were having an aperitif in the parlor waiting for dinner to be served.

Nickel had eagerly grabbed a glass from the tray the maid held up before him, thinking alcohol would soothe his stress and unease, but then he reminded himself. One of the reasons for this state of his was standing right behind him, and _he_ didn’t like it when his master was drinking. 

Earlier, being told they would make ready for dinner, Taven had unexpectedly fallen apart on him, begging him not to have to attend, crying and claiming there was no way he would get through the night without fucking up something. It had taken Nickel ages to make Taven get a grip of himself. 

He looked at the glass in his hand with a sigh, not putting it to his lips. He supposed it would be for the best if he went easy on the alcohol tonight. 

Well, by the time he’d finally made his concubine walk down the stairs behind him the way he’d been taught, Gertrude and Leonard had already arrived, his father giving him a sharp look for not being there to greet them. 

Nickel didn’t even dare think what the Head Lord would do if Taven had another episode during the evening. Christmas dinner was a big deal to his father, and with a guest from another clan at the table, as well… The old lord would never forgive the boy.

This guest, Nickel noted, hadn’t yet arrived. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one not being on time. 

He wasn’t given a chance to further angst about the, in his mind, unwelcome guest. Gertrude greeted him with an affectionate kiss at each of his cheeks, and soon managed to relax him better than any drink. 

“…and then Leonard says: ‘if God intended us to glide down mountain slopes, he’d given us bigger feet.’ He’s _such_ a grump,” she said, making Nickel laugh out loud. 

Gertrude, entertaining as always, had just given him a vivid description of poor Leonard’s misadventures in the ski slopes; complete with a hilariously spot on pantomime of her nonathletic husband’s very first wobbly moment with a pair of skis under his feet.

Leonard’s smile turned strained at her side. 

“At the end of the day he had a bruise as big as a pancake on his _poor_ little tush, and refused to go outside for _two_ whole days,” Gertrude ruthlessly went on, Leonard turning a bright red.

“For goodness sake, woman,” he complained. “Kindly refrain from openly discussing the state of my- my… And don’t call it ‘tush’!” he added with an indignant expression.

Nickel laughed again, but did take pity on his cousin this time. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Leonard, it’s not like I would have fared better. I’m afraid Gertrude is the only decent skier in the family. I tried it once when I was little… Never again.”

Gertrude opened her mouth to, no doubt, wax lyrical about the virtues of her favorite sport, but she never got started, smiling over Nickel’s shoulder instead. “Oh, there’s our guest now.”

Nickel tensed up. This was the other reason for his bad mood tonight, and it irked him he felt so pressured about the whole thing. He scowled to himself, his back still turned, while he listened to his father’s delighted greetings, steeling himself before the re-acquaintance. Just how much polite indifference could he get away with, without angering his father? 

He finally forced himself to turn – Taven quickly adjusting to his movement – trying to conjure up a smile which wouldn’t look too fake, but… 

The young lady before him was most definitely _not_ the woman he’d met at The Club. Frowning in confusion, he took the hand she reached out to him and lightly shook it, but then he cracked a wide and completely genuine smile. Relieved, he understood he must have misremembered the name. _Cecilia_ Moon was a completely different person.

\-----o0o-----

He’d tried to get out of it.

That hadn’t worked, of course. Taven had known it wouldn’t, had known his master wouldn’t fall for it, and wouldn’t allow he remained in their room even if the man had, but he’d sort of freaked out. What had started as fake tears soon turned into real ones, and not until he’d sensed Nickel was close to completely losing patience with him, had he complied and followed the man downstairs, keeping a proper distance the way an attendant should.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do, but that it didn’t matter. The incident by the fireplace last evening told Taven the old lord _was_ out to get at him in either case, and Nickel was wrong in thinking having trained him so intensely would help. 

Why couldn’t his master see that?

Maybe Nickel had simply other things to think about. There would be someone here tonight he didn’t like, that much Taven had understood from the previous night’s argument between the masters. Nickel had been happy and good-natured this morning, playing with him in the snow, but the further the day progressed, the more his master’s mood had worsened. Taven could sense the tension in him still. 

There seemed to be no support to expect from that direction tonight. 

Following his master into the parlor, Taven had hardly felt better. The old Head Lord was sitting on a chair in a corner, clutching his cane, glaring at him, and then, to Taven’s dismay, he discovered the same dark-haired slave girl he remembered from The Club, the one Serenity had called ‘Lucia’, attending his master’s cousin. Great, another perfect attendant, so he’d look even worse in comparison. 

If only Lucia had been nicer he could have looked to her, and see how she did things, trying to follow her example, maybe getting an encouraging glance. However, he was sure all he would get from her was being completely ignored again, and right now, he couldn’t take that. He kept his eyes away from her, and tried to concentrate only on his master’s moves. He couldn’t bump into the man tonight, or trip him up. It would be a _disaster_. 

Standing still behind the man while he talked with his cousin’s wife was easy enough, but Taven almost missed following when his master spun around without warning to greet another guest. He hoped no one had seen how he’d just barely managed to scramble out of the way and duck behind his master’s back again, where he belonged. 

Nickel should have left him at the mansion and brought Silas instead.

Luckily, Virgil announced dinner had been served shortly after, and the guests started to file into the adjoining dining hall. Surely, serving from beside Nickel’s chair would be easier than to follow him mingling.

His master waited until last, letting all the others pass him in the door, then, to Taven’s surprise he halted on the threshold to turn to him. 

Nickel smiled, and cupped his face with both his hands, leaning in. “You’re doing fine, Taven,” he whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you, and if you get nervous, or forget, I’ll help you. You think you can manage?”

Taven nodded, stunned. There wasn’t a trace of the tense and gloomy man from before, and Nickel had even used his name. What had made his master’s mood change so quickly? 

He watched the free people sitting down. 

No slave was attending the guest, but Nickel assisted pushing her chair in, while Virgil did the same for the old lord, and Lucia similarly aided her master and mistress... Oh, right, Taven should also… A slave passed him with a tray and gave him a hard nudge in the arm with her elbow. Startled, Taven realized he was being in the way of the serving maids and quickly amended, moving closer to his master, who, in the meantime, had had to sit down and adjust his chair on his own. Adjusting the chair once more, the chair legs bumped into Taven’s toes, and so he learned the hard way it wasn’t a good idea to stand too close either. He bit the inside of his cheeks hard, not to yell aloud, near tears not only from the pain, but also from the disapproving look the Head Lord gave him across the table. 

The lords and ladies hadn’t even started eating, and he was already fucking up.

His master might have sensed his distress. He didn’t turn to him, but he did reach back, found Taven’s arm, and squeezed it in encouragement. 

Taven tried to find comfort in that touch and told himself not to look in the old lord’s direction again. He was determined not to freak out, but if he saw the Head Lord scowling at him only one more time, he might anyway. 

He _would_ get through this, and Nickel would help him, like he always did.

\-----o0o-----

Roth rode the elevator up to his apartment, coming back from celebrating Christmas with his relatives.

It had pretty much been the same as last year’s celebration. His sister’s two kids had started to fight over the Christmas gifts. His mother kept asking why he was ‘hiding’ his new girlfriend from her, which was, by all means, a slight change from earlier years’ ‘when will you _get_ a girlfriend’. His sister’s husband broke ever-new records in boring dinner talk, while obviously thinking he was turning funnier every year. Uncle Bert, the perpetual bachelor, had fallen asleep in front the TV right after dinner, his snoring almost louder than the kids’ screaming, and his sister had become sentimental, talking about their late father, until he’d gotten tears in his eyes, too. 

Yeah… It had been great, and he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. 

It was still good to go back home, where it was quieter if nothing else. His ears were still ringing from his little nephews’ constant yelling. It never ceased to amaze him, the decibel level a kid of four could actually reach. There were times he couldn’t help thinking Silas being raised as a slave had its advantages, the boy’s quietness being one of them. 

Lately, Silas spoke even less than usual. His voice had started to change, and the occasional involuntary croaks and squeaks embarrassed him greatly. Roth had told him it was perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of, but it hadn’t seemed to make an impact.

The blissfully quiet Silas met him in the door as usual, and Evelyn was right behind him. She gave him a mischievous grin and held up a sprig of mistletoe above her head. Roth laughed and complied, stepping inside to give her a kiss, ruffling Silas’ hair in passing

Their relationship had progressed fast, but, so far, Roth hadn’t stopped to either worry, or analyze. If things felt right, why not just go with the flow. 

During her time making over his apartment, she’d been temporarily given a spare key, to let herself, as well as various painters and carpenters, in while Roth was busy elsewhere. Only a few days after her job was finished though, Roth had worked up the courage to ask her to keep the key. She had agreed. 

In spite of the speedy progression, spending the entire holiday together had seemed to be going a bit too fast. They had decided to celebrate with their respective relatives as usual, then meet up later and spend the rest of the Christmas night together at his place. He was glad to see she’d made use of the spare key, and had already arrived. 

A few minutes later they were cuddling on the couch, telling each other about their evenings, Roth delighting in making her laugh, imitating his brother in law’s droning voice and Uncle Bert’s characteristic snoring.

Sometime during this cozy moment on the couch, Silas sneaked inside with a tray of beverages and treats he’d been asked to put together, but Roth stopped him when he tried to leave as silently and discreetly as he’d entered. “Silas, wait… Evelyn, you don’t mind if he stays with us a while, do you? It’s Christmas, after all.”

Evelyn smiled and shook her head.

Silas sank down on his knees on the soft rug at their feet, while Roth reached behind him and fished up a zip bag he’d brought with him. It contained five large star-shaped home-baked sugar cookies his mother had piped into snowflakes, complete with tiny silver dragées, and Silas sure made big eyes when the bag was dropped in his lap and was told they were all for him, and him alone. Nickel would most likely not approve, but it was _Christmas_ and damn if Roth cared. 

Evelyn smiled, too, at the look of joyous surprise on the boy’s face, and his stammered words of gratitude, but then she turned in the couch and pointed over Roth’s shoulder. “I have to give it to you,” she said. “I’m absolutely shocked you’ve done such a great job with the tree. It looks amazing.”

Roth laughed. “You don’t have the least bit trust in me when it comes to decorating stuff, do you?” he said. Well, I guess you’re justified. I had nothing to do with it. That’s all Silas’ work.”

“Really?” Evelyn said, throwing Silas a surprised look.

“Yep,” Roth said. “He’s the one with the good taste around here. I’m completely ‘symmetry challenged’, you know, and shouldn’t be allowed access to anything tinsel or bauble related, ever, lest I seriously offend the very spirit of Christmas.”

Evelyn laughed aloud at that while she leaned over and reached for Silas, pinching both his cheeks in obvious affection. “Aren’t you just such a clever boy,” she cooed. “Yes you _are_.”

Roth grinned and shook his head behind her back. Evelyn was delighted with the boy, no doubt about it. He had suspected Silas’ neatness and well-mannered, quiet and obedient behavior was exactly what she’d like in a slave, and he hadn’t been wrong. Evelyn always treated Silas kindly, but sometimes she talked to him as if she thought he had the IQ of a beach ball. 

Whatever Silas thought of this, he naturally didn’t show it. He endured both cheek pinching and baby talk stoically, and politely said ‘thank you, Miss’. 

Evelyn finally let go of poor Silas and leaned back into his side again. Roth looked at them both in turn with this weird wish, or longing, growing in his heart, a longing to get to call them his own little family. 

Well, maybe that _would_ be too soon. 

They weren’t in a hurry, after all, and Roth knew very well, no matter how right it felt, rushing into things was never a good idea. Going with the flow was one thing, pressing on, quite another. 

He wished he could go back in time and tell his eighteen-year-old self just that. 

Roth had only been sixteen years old when he’d first met his ex wife, the new girl in his class in school, and he’d fallen as madly in love as only a teenager can. 

Two years later, they were married. 

Roth wouldn’t claim all marriages at such young years would be doomed to fail, but in their case, their parents had had all the reasons in the world to say ‘we told you so’. 

However, at first, everything had felt just as right, and he’d been far from satisfied with only ‘going with the flow’. Eager to start a life with her, he’d pressed on, managing to make it all sound like a romantic movie. They had dropped all aspirations of higher learning and moved into an apartment in the South End, the size of a shoebox, barely making it day to day on the meager pennies he managed to scrape together working in a factory in the area. 

A few years later, he’d regretted it. 

Well, not her, he still loved her at that point, but that they’d been in such a hurry. They were nowhere near the good life he’d promised her, and he dreaded the thought of being stuck in front of a conveyor belt for the rest of his life. Dropping out of school started to look like it had been a shitty idea, and he’d made his parents very disappointed. They’d worked hard to give his sister and him opportunities they hadn’t had themselves, and he was trampling their dreams into the ground. 

Then his father had unexpectedly passed away.

Wanting to honor his father’s memory, he’d been determined to get back on track and make something of himself. Roth had started to take night classes. 

If he had thought this would make his young wife happy, he’d been mistaken. Roth still wasn’t quite clear on exactly why, but as much as she disliked their poor lifestyle, she seemed to dislike his efforts to change even more. 

In spite of this, he was doing well catching up on his education, and as his confidence grew, Roth had dared pursuing a career he’d dreamed about as a child, but that had always seemed out of reach before. He’d worked his butt off, and had eventually managed to come through on his plans. 

Roth had become a licensed private investigator. 

It paid better than factory work, but the income was irregular, and he was often away at odd hours, leaving his wife sleeping alone on too many nights. They grew apart, no longer having anything to talk about, and he was still not providing ‘the good life’. He was ‘playing detective’, as she put it, and kept convincing her to postpone having children just one more year.

What had once started out as puppy love, now turned into constant bickering. 

Roth had often asked her, in the middle of a heated argument, why she didn’t just fucking leave then, if she was so damn disapproving of his choices, but he knew why she didn’t. He was the main breadwinner, irregular and insufficient as it was, and she had become dependent on him. 

There had been times when he was angry with her for that, but in the end, he always ended up blaming himself. It _was_ he who had pushed them to drop out of school and marry at eighteen. It was _he_ who’d made her believe in the good middle class life where she could be a ‘stay at home mom’ and he would provide for them all with a stable, normal, job. 

In the end, dependence and guilt had been what made them stay together, and love had had nothing to do with it anymore. 

He’d finally told her how he felt and hadn’t been surprised to learn she felt the same. Falling out of love might even have been the first thing they had agreed on in years. Then she’d told him she’d been seeing someone else for quite a while already, and that was it. They had separated the same week, and divorced shortly after. 

In spite of it all, Roth had been shocked, hurt and angry to learn about her infidelity, but it passed. Eventually, he hadn’t even particularly cared his wife left him for someone else. It _was_ probably mostly his fault things hadn’t worked out anyway. These days, looking back, he didn’t blame her for finding her own way out of a bad thing. Roth was only relieved they had waited with having children, and that he had ‘custody’ of the cat.

Well, shortly after the divorce, Roth had moved into his apartment down in the South End, and he’d done so with an almost overwhelming sense of freedom. Having a place to himself for the first time in his life was exhilarating, and after years of screaming and yelling, the peace and quiet was wonderful. Making choices, such as another career change, without being criticized at every turn was fantastic. Going out to have casual sex with women he didn’t have to call later was great. 

Yeah, Roth was finally his own man and he’d loved it. In fact, he’d loved it so much he hadn’t really noticed when this freedom had turned into loneliness.

He hugged Evelyn closer and smiled at Silas, nibbling on a cookie.

Maybe it wasn’t so strange he hadn’t been able to resist his new boss’ insistence on friendship, even though he’d known it wasn’t very professional. He’d perceived the clan lord as a somewhat lonely young guy he was humoring, without realizing, or admitting, he’d been one, too. 

Well, friendship was of course important, and Nickel did mean a lot to him, but this, Evelyn and he, it was different.

_Evelyn_ was different. She was eight years older than he was, and far from a young naïve girl, the like he’d once married. Evelyn had her own career, her own place, her own circle of friends, and her own money. In fact, Roth realized with a small start, she didn’t actually need him at all. No, she didn’t _need_ him, but, she _wanted_ him. 

In Roth’s mind that was a far better foundation to build on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> [Leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo) has, very kindly, again illustrated a scene from chapter 64, and she did it so well, you have to go and see it! :-) It can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805/chapters/68072587). Just look at that touching scene. Poor Taven! 
> 
> /Fran


	69. On A Night Such As This

Nickel put his hands on Taven’s shoulders and smiled at him. “You did well tonight,” he said.

The guests had all left, and as Nickel found himself alone with the boy in the parlor, he wanted to take the opportunity to assure him. 

Taven didn’t look assured. 

There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on the boy’s face at his master’s praise, only the tense and miserable expression he’d shown all night. “I do mean it, boy,” Nickel tried, squeezing his shoulders. “I know you were nervous, and you might have missed a few things, but considering the circumstances I _am_ pleased with how well you did.”

“I missed a lot of stuff, Master,” Taven murmured. “You didn’t see all.”

Nickel felt a sting of guilt. He had meant to keep Taven first on his mind the entire evening, but had to admit the young lady at his side had distracted him. 

Cecilia Moon had turned out to be a not entirely unpleasant surprise, and much nicer than her pretty clan member, who, Nickel had been informed upon carefully asking, was called _Celine_, and was one of Cecilia’s first cousins. Having had this confusion of his completely cleared up, he’d soon found himself engaged in a lively conversation with her, and learned several interesting facts. Cecilia was single, had recently turned thirty, and had given herself a little trip to the mountains as a treat for having earned a doctorate in archeology earlier in the year. Being away from the excessively large, noisy and exuberant traditional Moon Christmas celebration was the actual treat though, she’d confessed with a somewhat guilty smile. 

She had also excused herself for being ‘quite the nerd’ who preferred digging up shards of ancient pottery before attending clan events, and had, again, brought up her cousin Celine as an example of style, beauty and social skills to which she couldn’t hope to aspire. 

Nickel had protested this, and hadn’t at all done so out of politeness only. Apart from also being blond, Cecilia didn’t much resemble her tall, curvy cousin; that was true. However, her somewhat boyish appearance, enhanced by short hair and a plain sheath dress that didn’t hide her small chest and narrow hips, wasn’t at all unattractive to Nickel. Besides, if she was a nerd, then so was he. He found her field of study interesting, and didn’t need to pretend to hang on her every word. 

His father had looked very pleased, smiling at them from across the table, no doubt happy they seemed to get along so well. It had made Nickel frown. He still didn’t know how much his father was behind this, or what Cecilia might have been told, or promised, but he didn’t think it was a coincidence the lady was single, and of an intellectual type. It undoubtedly looked as if his father had made an effort finding someone to invite he thought his son would like, and it did irk Nickel. He had to admit though; if he was forced to marry – and he was – then he certainly could do much worse. 

Still… 

Nickel didn’t let go of Taven’s shoulders. He looked at his concubine’s brooding face, took in the mass of freckles, stared into the gray eyes under the frowning light eyebrows, felt the softness of Taven’s hair where it grazed his knuckles, falling over the boy’s thin shoulders, and his heart swelled. 

It didn’t matter how nice it had been to have such pleasant company at dinner. Cecilia simply wasn’t Taven. He knew he should still see her again, that he at least had to try to…

His father limping into the parlor unaided, Virgil seemingly having been dismissed, interrupted nickel’s conflicted musing. “Nickel,” he said, looking serious enough. “Send your slave away! I want to talk to you.”

Taven didn’t need to be told twice. He gave them both an awkward bow, and all but ran out of the room. Nickel let the boy go, hoping he would find the way back to their room on his own.

The old lord scowled at Taven’s back as he left. “Where on earth did you find that creature, Nickel?” he said. “He might look like an exotic, but he’s clearly not one. How can that even be?”

Nickel sighed deeply. “As I’ve already explained, I don’t know why he was never trained. Father, I know he didn’t do perfectly, but it’s not easy to catch up on attendance training after what he’s been through, and he’s had such a short time. He did his best.”

“I understand the circumstances, son,” his father said, obviously trying to be patient. “But this just isn’t good enough.”

Anger welled up inside of Nickel. “What did he do that was so awful? Are you saying he ruined dinner, too?”

The old lord shook his head in a disapproving manner. “No, Nickel, he didn’t ruin dinner. It wasn’t anything the slave did, but how he comes across. For goodness sake, son, that thing is a nervous wreck. Every move he makes betrays how awkward and uncomfortable he is. He’s so twitchy and miserable it’s distracting. Your attendant is supposed to be there to make your night easier, _you_ aren’t supposed to be there to constantly coddle and comfort a terrified boy who’s about to fall apart at any moment.” 

“What do you want me to do then?” Nickel spat. “You want me to beat him for being scared and nervous?”

His father all but rolled his eyes. “I haven’t mentioned a word about any kind of punishment, son, but I _am_ criticizing _you_ for putting that poor creature in this situation in the first place.”

Nickel was taken aback, and not immediately able to reply. It wasn’t _Taven_ his father was angry with, and it wasn’t only the dinner he’d been concerned about. “I… see,” he said. 

“Son, I know you’re fond of the boy, and I can tell you’re trying to justify his presence in your bed by making him into an attendant, but… Can’t you see what a simpleminded little thing he is? He’s simply not cut out for this kind of work, and I don’t think he _can_ be trained to. Either they have ‘it’, or they don’t. I’ve already made him your concubine, what other kind of approval do you seek? Spare the slave this pressure, son, and keep him as a pet in your private rooms only. I’m sure, if he dared being honest with you, he’d vastly prefer not being made a spectacle of in public.”

“Right,” Nickel said. “I… I’ll certainly think of it, father” he managed, before turning on his heels and stomping away across the floorboards.

“Nickel,” his father called out behind him, clearly noticing the door he was aiming for didn’t lead to his room. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m going out,” Nickel informed him, halting in the door, but refusing to turn to him.

“At this hour?”

“I need to think,” Nickel said, unable to hide the resentment in his voice, but not hardhearted enough, even in his embarrassment and anger, to simply ignore his father’s worry. “I’ll only take a short walk down the village road.”

“Oh. Don’t be long, son, and watch out you don’t slip on the ice, it’s very dark down that road, bring a flashlight, and… dress warmly!”

Nickel sighed. “Yes, father,” he said, walking away.

\-----o0o-----

Taven sat on his master’s bed, dreading his return.

He’d brushed his teeth, braided his hair, and put on his pajama, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed, much less try to sleep. Nickel had claimed he’d done well, but there was just no way it could be true. Taven knew he hadn’t, and there was no doubt in his mind the old lord had sent him away because he’d wanted to give Nickel an earful about his worthless slave. 

Taven tried to comfort himself, thinking, even if he hadn’t done well, he really hadn’t caused a disaster either. Surely, his master wouldn’t agree to discard him only because of this night.

Right?

No, Taven couldn’t believe the man would, but that didn’t mean Nickel wouldn’t be in a bad mood when he came upstairs, and imagining his master’s deep disappointment felt shitty enough. He wanted to cry.

He startled when the door finally opened, but it wasn’t his master. It was Virgil. Taven stayed on the bed, staring, not understanding. 

The Head Lord’s personal slave remained in the door. “You’re to see Master in the study,” he informed him. “Right away!”

“Master Nickel’s in the study? Uh, I don’t know where that is.” 

Virgil sighed. “Not young Master, _Master_. Now, come with me!”

“What? The old…?” His stomach knotted up. “The- the Head Lord? Why?” 

“Why?” Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. “How should I know? You don’t ask Master why.”

No, of course you didn’t, but Virgil must still know his master well enough to see what kind of mood he was in. “Yeah, no,” Taven agreed. “B- but- but… Was he kinda… I mean, was he angry, or…?”

Virgil’s eyebrows stayed up. “No, but if you’re not going where you’re told to go, _when_ you’re told to, then he _will_ be.”

“I didn’t mean to… I was just kinda…”

“Are you seriously arguing with me?” Virgil looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. “I told you to come with me, _now_!”

“I got my pajama on,” Taven whined, desperate for any excuse to stay right where he was. “I ain’t, like, decent, and shit.” 

Virgil took one threatening step into the room. “For goodness sake, slave.”

Taven got off the bed then. There was no use in stalling; in the end, they’d only physically force him if he refused. Head hanging, a big lump in his stomach, hugging himself, he followed Virgil through the house on bare feet, until the other slave stopped by a door, opened it, and as good as shoved him inside. 

He flinched at the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, and didn’t look up. The study… This wasn’t good; this was so, _so_ fucking bad. Back home, Nickel only ever ordered him into the study when something serious was going on. This was serious. He just knew it was. 

Taven didn’t even realize he’d collapsed to the floor, until his knees connected painfully with the old wooden boards, but it felt right, once he was down there. He’d done something bad, Nickel wasn’t here to protect him, and the only thing he could do to save himself was to beg for mercy. Being in the state he was, he couldn’t have formed a single spoken word in his own defense, but if there was one piece of training Taven remembered, it was how to fall into a proper apology kneel. Before he could even think; his body did just that. 

“Oh, for the love of…” the old man’s annoyed voice came from somewhere above him. “Get up!” he ordered. “Well? Up, up, up!”

Taven hurried to obey the impatient order, getting dizzy as he sprang up, swaying; trying to make his wobbly legs cooperate, not knowing where to put his shaking hands, or where to look.

“I didn’t have you sent here to punish you, slave,” the old man said with a sigh. “Get a grip on yourself!”

Taven tried, but he really couldn’t help how fidgety and shaky he was. 

“If it will calm you enough to pay attention, I’ll have you know I don’t actually have any complaints about your behavior tonight,” the lord said. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying you showed the skills one normally expects from an exotic, or a concubine, but it has been brought to my attention this isn’t from any fault of your own. I suppose, considering the circumstances, you did as well as you could.”

Taven gaped. The Head Lord really wasn’t angry about his awful attendance skills, and didn’t even blame him for learning so badly? He hardly believed his ears. “I- I… I’ll practice more, Master,” he promised. “I’ll shut up and practice, and I ain’t gonna be lazy about it.”

The old lord winced, and shook his head with a grimace. “Considering that horrible South End accent, I’d say more practice and less talking is a very good idea, boy. Keep that up, and I will have even less to complain about.” 

Taven took these words literally and clamped his mouth shut. 

“When you’re not talking, you’re decorative enough, boy, and I suppose there must be _some_ kind of hidden pleasant side to you, for my son to… Well, I’m sure you’re already fully aware what my son feels about you, but it’s not what interests me here, slave. I want to know what _you_ feel, and I want to hear it from your own mouth, even if that accent of yours sorely grates on my ears.”

Taven stared. He had no idea what the old man was asking for.

The Head Lord gave up a tired sigh and shook his head. “…like talking to a… I’m not asking if you’re in love with my son, slave. Sad as it is, I realize it’s not a meaningful concept to the likes of you. However, I _am_ asking if you at least feel some kind of devotion. Do you care about him? At all?” 

Oh, Taven understood now what the Head Lord was asking, but it didn’t make him less confused. What kind of weird question was that? Who the hell cared what a slave thought about their master, and in case the old man had forgotten, he _owned_ him, so what the fuck did he expect to hear?

Let’s say he couldn’t stand Nickel, did the Head Lord really think he’d straight up admit to that. Yeah, no. It made absolutely no fucking difference what Taven was thinking, he would give the old man the answer he wanted, because he wasn’t fucking crazy. 

However, just as he was about to answer, he found himself thinking about it instead. What _did_ he feel about Nickel? 

Well, he didn’t hate him, of course. Not now, he didn’t, but there had been moments when he’d hated his master, and, back then, the feeling had been strong enough, all right. Did none of that resentment linger? Taven didn’t know, he didn’t want to think about any of that shit, and didn’t want to recall the stress and anxiety of those conflicts. He’d been angry, he thought. Yeah, that was it. Sometimes he was angry with his master, but he didn’t _hate_ him. How could he? No one else in his entire life had ever been that nice to him, had had so much patience, cared that much, wasted so much money on him, been this careful fucking him… No matter what, that counted for something. 

Did he feel for his master then, the way Nickel seemed to feel about him? Taven didn’t know that either. He wasn’t sure what it was Nickel felt, so how could he know if he felt the same? He was grateful, he knew that. Weren’t slaves supposed to be? 

However, the old man hadn’t asked him if he was ‘in love’, he’d asked if he _cared_.

In a way, this was a harder question, and something Taven had never imagined would be required of him. Why would Nickel need his slave to _care_ about him? Weak things needed care; his master wasn’t weak. Nickel was all kinds of strong. He could kick assholes twice his size in the face like it was nothing, and was smarter than anyone Taven had ever met, with maybe the sole exception of Serenity. His master was so rich he could buy anything he wanted, and had absolute power over a hundred slaves, who all quaked in their shoes as he passed. Even Mr. Roth had a lot of respect for his master, and he was probably the biggest fucking guy Taven had ever seen. 

He ventured a short glance in the old man’s direction, seeing him impatiently tapping the desktop with his fingers, waiting for an answer, no doubt. Taven still didn’t know what to say. It was just so much more complicated than he’d first thought. 

Maybe it wasn’t the kind of care the Head Lord was talking about. Nickel wasn’t always that strong in, like, his mind, was he? Serenity had said Nickel easily got hurt, and he had seen his master sad, worried and even somewhat insecure. So, did he want his master to feel bad then? Did he want shit to happen to him, like getting sick, or break a leg, or something? No, Taven didn’t want any of those things.

Why didn’t he? Was it because if Nickel was in any way hurt he might not be able to look after his redheaded plaything anymore? No, Taven realized, that wasn’t it, not only, not anymore. With the concubine contract, Nickel had seen to it he would be taken care of even if his master died, and Taven still didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

Taven gaped in astonishment at where his thoughts had taken him. He _did_ care.

“I… I do care about him, Master,” he finally said, “I _do_.” He would have lied if he’d needed to, but he didn’t need to. 

The old man stared at him as if he was trying to see inside his mind.

“Very well, boy,” he said. “I believe you, and I’m relieved to hear it. I don’t expect you to understand, but for a father it’s important to… I fear my son is somewhat of a romantic at heart, and I suspect you are not. Few slaves are, and I wish Nickel could understand that, but… Caring will have to do, boy.”

Taven kept quiet. Again, he had no idea what the Head Lord was talking about. 

“Well, my son might not want to see things for what they really are,” he continued. “But at my age I really shouldn’t engage in similar bouts of denial. I did make you his concubine…” He cut himself short, leaned forward in the chair and gave Taven a strict look. “Make no mistakes about it, slave, I didn’t do so because I thought you were in any way, shape or form, suitable for such a position, but because I… Well, it’s no concern of yours, but whatever the reason, here you are, a concubine, _his_ concubine, and I suppose I should, in some way, well… acknowledge you.”

The old man suddenly smiled at him, and it was so unexpected it scared Taven more than anything else, so far. 

“It’s Christmas,” he said. “A time for forgiveness and generosity, wouldn’t you say? Ah well, what would you know of such things. Suffice it to say, slave, that on a night such as this, I don’t consider it terribly inappropriate to give a concubine a gift, of sorts.”

A gift? Taven understood less of this by the second. Concubines got Christmas gifts? His master hadn’t mentioned a word about gifts, let alone given him one. What did that mean? 

The old lord looked for something on the desk before him, grabbed a paper, and held it up. 

“Attention, slave!” he demanded. “I’m giving you this because you did try your best tonight, and I expect it to encourage you to always do your best in the future, as well. I’m giving you this so you will never forget to serve my son with all the devotion you can muster and I expect you to see to his wants and needs always, to the best of your ability. Do you understand what I want from you?”

“Y- yes, Master,” Taven stammered. 

Again, the old lord smiled. “As I understand things, this is important to you, so, well, then, have it. Wear it with the pride it deserves.” He reached over the desktop, holding the paper out to him, clearly urging him to take it.

Taven received it with a shaking hand. What _was_ this? He just didn’t understand.

“Well? Read it, boy! Go on! I know Nickel taught you.”

Taven obeyed, looking down at the paper, slowly turning it the right side up. It was a copy of his concubine contract, but… There were no longer any blank spaces. He stared at the first line declaring a name; hardly believing his eyes, and didn’t even realize he’d started to cry before there were suddenly damp spots forming on the paper.

It said, ‘Taven’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
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> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
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> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
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> /Fran


	70. Old Companions, and New…

Taven lifted the spoon, but stopped it halfway to his mouth when he realized there were about twice as many people around the table than usual. A few were standing behind the already seated, and the rest of the room had all turned their chairs. They were all looking at him. 

He put the spoon back in the stew on his plate and looked about in both discomfort and rising anger. What the fuck were they all staring at? What had he done now?

Ada put a hand on his arm and he turned to her. She was smiling widely and was almost bouncing on the chair. “So,” she said. “How was it?”

“How was what?” 

“How was it up at the summerhouse, of course,” Ada replied. “Did you talk to Virgil, did he…?”

“Did you see Anna?” an older man interrupted, leaning over the table and putting an imploring hand on his other arm. “Anna, my daughter, did you see her?”

Taven looked about the room again, expectant eyes in every direction, and he started to understand what this was all about. He knew the old Head Lord hadn’t always lived up in the mountains. No one used to live in the summerhouse. The Wren clan only went there for the holidays, but when the old lord retired to the place permanently, he had of course taken enough slaves with him to live comfortably. It wasn’t likely he’d asked any of them if they wanted to move, and probably hadn’t cared what bonds he broke by taking them with him. 

These people only wanted news about their friends and relatives who though not entirely lost to them, they couldn’t have many opportunities to see or talk to. 

“I…” Taven started, but he had no such news, and didn’t know what to say. He turned to Ada again, with an accusing scowl. “You wanted me to…? Why the fuck didn’t anyone say anything _before_ I went up there?” 

Ada looked a little guilty. “We didn’t really dare to. Master was training you so intensely; you seemed so tired and overtaxed, and he told us not to… We weren’t to bother you. Well, we thought you’d sure have a lot to tell us when you got back anyway.” She smiled that expectant smile again, her eagerness making her look younger than the reality of her wrinkled face and graying hair. 

Nickel had told them not to… Oh, it was true, the last few weeks before Christmas they _had_ all avoided him more than usual. Even the ones he chatted a little with during lunch, or had started to say hello to when he ran into them about the house had started to avoid him again. It was only he’d been too caught up in the training to really stop to think about it. So, that’s why? Fuck, his master only had to order them not to ‘bother him’, and _none_ of them dared take a single fucking moment to ask him to take some messages to their loved ones?

That was _so_ fucked up. 

Taven looked down to avoid their stares, close to cracking under the weight of their hopeful expectations. “I- I didn’t really… I didn’t talk much to people up there, and- and…”

There was a loud, deep and utterly disappointed sigh somewhere behind him, and Taven caved in under the pressure. He dashed out of his chair and ran out of the dining hall, leaving his uneaten lunch behind.

Taven went for his room, steaming with anger. Why were they all such fucking pussies? How the hell could asking him only make their master angry? If they’d only asked him he would have brought letters, or whatever, but what the fuck did they expect when they never fucking _asked_ him? 

The anger was directed at himself, as well. No matter if they’d asked him or not, shouldn’t he have figured all this out himself? Yes, he should have understood the slaves in both houses all knew each other, and he should have asked some of them up there if they had messages he could bring back to the mansion. However, as usual, he’d been too caught up in his own miseries to think of anyone else, and none of this had occurred to him. 

Taven had disappointed the whole house, and there was no telling now how long it would be until they had another chance. He’d had a chance to become more accepted and liked here, as well, and he’d blown it.

He was such a shit.

Almost immediately after he’d reached his room there was a knock on the door. Taven didn’t answer, but a small crack opened anyway and Ada peeked inside, asking if she could come in.

Taven only shrugged his shoulders where he sat pressed into the corner of the bed, hugging his knees close. He feigned indifference, but deep down hoped she wouldn’t go away. Ada didn’t. She came inside and took a seat at the bedside. 

At first, neither of them said a word, but then Ada turned and pointed on the wall above his head. “Did Jonas give you that?” she asked.

Taven looked up. Since his master had discovered the star of nails anyway, and didn’t even seem angry about it, Taven had done what he had wanted to do all along and hung the star above his bed first thing after they had returned home. He nodded. 

“Isn’t he just so good with his hands?” she commented, sounding very proud of him.

Taven nodded again, missing his friend. They’d only been back since yesterday evening, and he hadn’t had a chance to go down to the garage yet. 

“I’m sorry we put such pressure on you,” Ada continued. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault, and not your responsibility.”

“They don’t talk to you, you know,” Taven said. 

“Who?” Ada asked.

“Fucking everyone! When you’re a concubine, and master wants you close all the time, they’re not gonna just come up to you and ask stuff, are they? No one up there said anything about any messages, and I didn’t think about... I wanna help, I do, but… Master wanted me to behave in a perfect way, and I was just so fucking scared the whole time the old master would think I wasn’t good enough, and… I didn’t think about anything else.” 

“I know,” Ada said, reaching a hand out to pat his leg. “As I said, we didn’t mean to pressure you. We were only hoping that… We understand.” 

Again, there was silence, but this time, it was Taven who broke it. “You know Virgil?” he asked, remembering Ada had mentioned him in the dining hall. Obviously, the Head Lord’s personal slave was the one _she_ wanted to hear from. 

Ada blushed like a young girl and looked down with a smile, nodding. “When we were young, Virgil and I were… Um, let’s just say I know him very well, but…” The smile vanished. “Well, it was a long time ago, and it was never meant to be. I’d still like to hear that he’s fine.”

“He is,” Taven said, crawling out of the corner to sit at Ada’s side. Realizing he did have some news after all, he was eager to bring back her smile. “He looked really good, and his back was much better. I even talked to him once.”

“Oh?” Ada said, brightening up. “What did he say?”

“Uh,” Taven said, too embarrassed to admit how Virgil had scolded him. “He just, like, told me where to go. Wasn’t a real talk, I guess, but he’s fine, I swear.”

Ada smiled. “Thanks, Taven. That’s good to know.”

“He was better than the old master anyway,” Taven went on. “He’d, like, broken his foot.” 

“Really? Ada said, looking worried. “Goodness gracious! What happened?”

“One of the slaves hadn’t sanded the steps. He slipped on some ice, or something, had this damn cane…” Taven shuddered at the memory of that cane. He still considered it some kind of miracle he’d escaped a beating with it.

Ada looked truly worried now. “Goodness! I hope he wasn’t punished too hard. Who was it, do you know?”

“…John?” Taven said, trying to remember. 

“Oh no! Poor John!”

“I… I didn’t see anyone who looked like they’d been flogged,” he said, trying to ease her distress, though he knew what he’d seen, or not seen, would say absolutely nothing about the condition of this ‘John’. Taven told himself to ask his master to find out, so he could give her a real answer later on. 

“I’ll ask master,” he said. “But everyone _I_ saw looked just fine, and, oh, yeah, wait, I did see…” 

Suddenly, words started to pour out of him. Even if he hadn’t really spoken to anyone and mostly stayed closed to Nickel the entire time, they _had_ been up there for little more than a week. It was plenty of time to have seen and heard this and that, especially considering how small the summerhouse was. Now, when there weren’t a multitude of eyes staring at him, Taven remembered more than he’d thought, and Ada kept spurring on his memory with numerous questions. 

However, eventually he ran out of things to inform her of, and no matter how he tried, he really couldn’t remember anything else. 

Taven shifted on the bed, uneasy. It felt so good talking to Ada. He didn’t want her to leave, but he knew she would if he didn’t think of something else to say. Ada never sat down for long, having chores to attend to at all hours. “I gotta show you something,” he said before she had a chance to excuse herself. He quickly got off the bed to rummage through his closets. 

He returned to put the second copy of the concubine contract he’d been given in her coarse hands. “Look at this!” he said eagerly, realizing this wasn’t only so she wouldn’t leave. He also hoped she would be happy for him, or maybe even proud of him, the way she was of Jonas. It didn’t happen. 

Ada only looked at the contract with a small frown, seemingly not understanding what was so special about it. They already knew he was a concubine, after all. Disappointed, Taven sat down beside her and poked the paper. “Here,” he tried to show her. “It’s my name. I mean… It really is _my_ name now. I know I only borrowed it before, and you all thought it was fucking weird, and, well the old master did too. I mean, he didn’t approve, and told master to take it back, but he changed his mind. Can you believe it? He changed his mind and said I could have it. I swear, he told me himself and all, and he gave me this paper to prove it. He called it a _Christmas gift_ and I ain’t even lying about that.”

Ada looked at him with wide eyes, and again Taven poked the paper. “He wrote that with his own hand. It _is_ my name now, for real.”

“Oh, Taven,” she said, dropping the paper in her lap and clasping her hands together over her heart in delight, her surprised face cracking open into a big smile. “That’s _wonderful_. I’m so happy for you; you must have done so well.” 

She caressed his cheek tenderly and Taven beamed. She _was_ happy for him, and proud, too. 

Taven recalled how he’d once mentioned to Jonas how Ada had nagged him to eat more, which, at the time, had greatly annoyed him. He had thought she’d mocked how small he was. Jonas had laughed and said he’d taken it the wrong way. Ada was such a mother hen, worrying about them all. Trying to get the youngsters to eat more was only her way to show she cared. 

That same time, Jonas had told him about his birthmother, who had died when he was only two. He’d explained how the maids had taken turns caring for him, but Ada, he’d said, was the one who felt the most like a ‘real mom’. He’d readily admitted he loved her as if she was, and she loved him back. Taven had listened in fascination, but hadn’t really understood, never having experienced the kind of motherly affection Jonas spoke of. He’d wondered what having a ‘real mom’ would feel like. 

Now he hoped _this_ was what it felt like, because it sure felt good. 

“Ada,” he said, his mind stuck on the subject. “Where’s Master’s mom?”

Months earlier Taven had thoughtlessly asked Nickel about his mother, but he’d gotten no answer, only a weird expression. He hadn’t dared ask again, but now and then, he’d thought about it. He didn’t think she was dead. His master spoke of his brother, if his mom had died too; Taven thought Nickel would have just said so. He’d been convinced then she was simply living up in the mountains, as well, and there was just something wrong with the lady that no one ever mentioned her. However, to his surprise there had been no more Lady Wren in sight up at the summerhouse than there was here. 

The mystery remained, and now Ada was looking weird, too. Had he put his foot in it, again?

“You’ve never asked Master this, have you?” she wanted to know, giving him a strict look.

“Uh, no,” Taven lied. “I was just wondering ‘cause I thought she’d be up there.”

Ada was visibly relieved. “Good! It’s not something you should ask about, boy. It would be very upsetting to Master.” She sighed, looking sad. “Since everybody else knows, I’ll tell you, but you have to remember, it’s not your place to bring this up with Master. Ever! Understand? I’m only telling you so you’ll know to be quiet about it.”

Taven nodded, mystified by the seriousness in her voice. 

“You see, Lady Wren was very young when she came here to get married. She was much, _much_ younger than the Head Lord. Her clan is somewhere from the east coast, too, and that’s far from here. I think she was lonely and unhappy from the first day. She sure was a high strung lady, not easy to please.”

“Uh, high… What?”

“High strung, tense, nervous… When she got pregnant with Master, she was happier, for a while, but she didn’t have an easy pregnancy, and Master was a sickly baby, he cried a lot, and… Well, I don’t think she was truly happy until she had her second child.” 

“She liked him more?” Taven said, surprising himself with the indignation he felt on his owner’s behalf.

“I… I wouldn’t say that. A mother of course loves all her children equally, but she did have an easier time with him. Taven, the first Taven, he was a very strong and robust baby, and grew into a lively child. She delighted in him, she did.”

“But then he died.”

Ada nodded. “It broke her. I think she nearly lost her mind, and they sent her to this ‘place’.”

Taven’s eyes widened. “They put her in the loony bin?” One night, he’d seen an old black and white film about such an institution on TV, with their master, and it had been fucking scary. Nickel claimed such places didn’t exist anymore, but who knew.

“No, of course not,” Ada answered, frowning at him. “It was more like a… retreat, to calm her nerves. Well, she got better, but she never came back here. I think she moved back east as soon as she was discharged, and as far as anyone knows the masters haven’t heard from her since.”

“But,” Taven said. “What about Master? She just left him?” 

Ada nodded, looking even sadder. “You see now why you shouldn’t remind Master of this?”

Taven nodded, ashamed he had once mentioned it, but how could he have known. 

He felt bad for his master, thinking he could relate to being abandoned and unwanted, and, in a way, it must have been even worse for Nickel. Taven was of course born from _someone_, but they had taken him too early for him to have any recollection whatsoever of this birthmother. He might have longed all his life to belong somewhere, but at least he wasn’t missing a specific person. His master was.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed caring, after all. 

“Well,” Ada said, smiling and caressing his cheek again, as if she wanted to wipe away the morose expression on his face. “We shouldn’t sit here all day. What do you say we go back out there and tell the others everything you told me? Don’t worry; I’ll do all the talking. I remember most of it, and you can fill in if I miss something.”

Taven hesitated, not particularly keen on facing the others after behaving like a fucking idiot, storming out of the dining hall, but she waved him along with such an encouraging smile that finally he got off the bed, and sauntered after her.

His master had lost a mom, but inside of Taven, the smallest of hopes started to take form, a hope that maybe, _he_ had found one.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel smiled. For about the hundredth time tonight, Taven yawned in his ear. Obviously, the boy wasn’t able to feign interest in what was on TV. Political debates might not be Taven’s thing. Truth be told, he hadn’t been listening very attentively either, distracted by other thoughts. He was still reluctant to switch off the TV as the credits started rolling. Nickel had something to tell Taven and he didn’t quite know how to put it.

Oh, he was being silly. This wasn’t a big deal, and he shouldn’t explain his decisions to his own slave anyway. The boy should simply hear and obey, and that’s that. 

“Taven,” he said, putting the remote on the table, “I’m going to The Club next Saturday, but you’ll be staying here. I’ll go unattended.”

The boy slowly turned his head toward him. “Uh, I’m not gonna…? Why?”

Nickel sighed. Questioning orders and asking why really was a bad habit for a slave, and he should probably have put a stop to it a long time ago. However, the truth was he’d always enjoyed talking with Taven. If he insisted on such rules in private he might gain a perfectly mannered slave, but he’d lose someone he could have a meaningful dialogue with. 

He supposed his problem was that he thought a slave should fill such a role in the first place. 

“I think it’s for the best if you don’t attend me there.”

“But, I learned so much, and…” He silenced. 

Nickel could see how Taven thought it over, and by the hurt that spread over the boy’s face; he could see he was coming to the exact conclusion Nickel feared he would.

“It ain’t enough,” he said. “No matter how much I practice, it ain’t ever gonna be enough. I’ll never be good enough.”

“That’s not it, Taven. You’re good enough for me.” 

“But I ain’t to others? You’re ashamed of me, Master?”

Well, Nickel thought, here was the price you pay for letting a slave question, ask why, and talk freely with you. Not so much having to tolerate a badly mannered slave, as someone putting you on the spot about uncomfortable things you’d rather avoid talking about, or admit. 

“No, I’m not,” Nickel said, and wasn’t quite sure if he was actually lying, or not. “That’s not it… Taven, you hate going to The Club, you don’t like doing this kind of work. You should be happy you don’t have to.” 

Nickel suspected he wasn’t going to get away that easily. He wasn’t wrong.

Taven rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like you’d let a slave get out of work just ‘cause they think it’s boring and shit.”

Nickel couldn’t help smiling. Taven wasn’t stupid and clearly understood most owners wouldn’t care, but the truth was, in this case, Nickel did care. Taven had more problems with this kind of work than boredom; his father had been right about that. Nickel had thought he must push Taven beyond his abilities, but his father had quite to the contrary approved of easing up on the boy’s duties instead.

He wanted to explain this to his concubine, but Taven forestalled him. The boy turned in the couch and gave him the most imploring look. “I’m gonna practice more, I swear, and- and… You can start using the bit again. Even your dad said I ain’t that bad as long as I shut up.”

Nickel patted Taven’s knee. “You’ll still serve me in informal situations, but The Club isn’t the place.”

It definitely wasn’t the place he wanted to bring Taven to this time, for other reasons than the concerns his father had brought up. 

Christmas being over, Nickel had stayed for New Years as well, planning not to make a big affair of it and spend the night with the Head Lord. His father wouldn’t hear of it. The ski resort held a large New Years Eve party, and the old man had insisted his son ‘go celebrate with the other youngsters’. 

Nickel had been reluctant at first, not feeling like partying, or leaving Taven on his own. Besides, Cecilia would be there, a fact both his father and he had been very well aware of, but none of them had mentioned, and his nerves had returned in tenfold. However, he had gone to the party, and in spite of himself ended up having a good time. He couldn’t deny to himself what pleasant company Cecilia was, and what fun they’d had, talking, dancing and watching the fireworks explode over the mountain tops against a wide black night sky. 

Was he infatuated with her? No, Nickel could honestly say he wasn’t, but damn, he liked her. He liked her a lot, but not as a potential lover. However, he wouldn’t at all mind getting to know her better and becoming friends. 

Well, Cecilia had told him she really wasn’t much for partying either, and that it wasn’t a coincidence he couldn’t remember ever seeing her at The Club, _but_, she’d continued, making sure he paid attention, she _was_ going to make a ‘noteworthy exception’ and attend The Club’s first mingle party in January. Nickel had the distinct impression she’d meant for him to meet her there, even if she hadn’t actually said so. 

Nickel was certain then there was nothing coincidental whatsoever about Cecilia turning up in his life at this particular point in time. His father must have talked to her and promised her marriage. Nickel fumed at the thought. He understood why his father considered her such a good match, and that once he’d found someone so fitting, he couldn’t help interfering, no matter what he’d promised. Nickel would also admit his father _was_ close to the mark about what kind of woman he would like. However, that was the actual problem. 

Now that he did like Cecilia, the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. If she had expectations beyond an arranged marriage, expectations of a more romantic nature, then he must be honest with her, before things went too far. Nickel didn’t care he was bound by contract to marry, he would _not_ lure anyone into his life under false pretenses, and he would _not_ have his father doing so either. 

Nickel was determined to go to The Club and bravely lay all cards on the table. She deserved the option to walk into this with open eyes, or… walk away. 

He sure as hell didn’t want Taven close by for _that_ conversation. 

“Master?” Taven spoke up at his side, dragging him out of his thoughts, the same imploring look on his face. “Please let me come anyway. I wanna serve you, you know, with… With divo… D- d… De…”

“Devotion?” Nickel asked.

“Yeah, that’s the word. I wanna serve you with devotion, and- and… Master, I gotta give you what you want and need. I’m gonna work harder, so you don’t have to be ashamed of me, I swear.” 

Nickel looked at Taven, frowning. There was something not quite right, with what the boy was saying, as if he spoke with someone else’s words, some of which he obviously didn’t even know. Then it struck him, this _wasn’t_ the boy’s own words, these were words his _father_ would have put in Taven’s mouth.

Oh, it all made sense now.

The night of the Christmas dinner, he’d gone down the road for about half a mile, to walk off some steam after the argument with his father, but when he came back, he found Taven sitting on his bed with tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d been worried at the sight, of course, but Taven had explained it was in fact tears of happiness this time. He’d showed him the contract, which now bore a name, and told him about the Head Lord’s gift. 

At that moment, Nickel had forgotten all angry thoughts. He’d reminded himself how much he loved his father, and what a good heart the old man really had, behind that grumpy and strict exterior. It meant so much to his concubine to be acknowledged in this way, and his father couldn’t have made a more generous gesture. 

However, already hearing Taven speaking of it, Nickel had of course wondered why. It really was totally unexpected, after all, considering his father had been so upset about the name Nickel hadn’t even dared speaking it out loud once, taking the boy up there. After they’d gone to bed, Nickel had stayed awake pondering the mystery. 

Taven _had_ worked hard to better himself, something Nickel had made sure to inform his father of. It could be the Head Lord wanted to give Taven a reward for doing his best, in spite of it all. Maybe his father finally believed Taven really did regret his former bad behavior, too. Well, Taven deserving a reward, or some kind of encouragement, might have been part of it, but it was hardly the main reason. 

Nickel had resumed the search for a reason why.

Next, he’d thought the concerns his father had expressed meant he did in fact not dislike the boy quite as much as he was letting on. Maybe his father had wanted to do something to let them both know this, without having to admit so in words. However, not actually hating the boy wasn’t the same as Taven having ‘won over’ the Head Lord. 

His father had never displayed any kind of fondness for slaves, not even for Virgil. The man had faithfully served his father for decades, but no matter how decently his father treated his personal slave, Nickel had never seen anything else than distance between them. Nickel knew Virgil was far from a robot, but only watching him serve his father, you wouldn’t know. 

No, that wasn’t it either. Nickel might find Taven’s peculiar charms irresistible, but his father would hardly be susceptible to them. 

In the end, Nickel had concluded it was a gesture that was really directed to _him_, not to Taven. Nickel storming off after Christmas dinner had reminded his father of the risks he was taking. If he pushed his son too far about his concubine then maybe next time they wouldn’t be able to bridge the rift that would undoubtedly emerge between them. He remembered the worry in his father’s voice as he’d turned his back and walked out of the house, a worry that really had not to do with how warmly he dressed, or how slippery the dark village road was. 

Yes, Nickel had thought, the Head Lord had given his lost son’s name to a favored slave, simply to assure himself of the love and gratitude of his remaining son. 

Nickel still believed this conclusion was the correct one, but hearing Taven’s plea now he started to think it might not be the _whole_ truth. After all, his father was also quite adept at spotting peoples’ weaknesses, and using them to his advantage. 

His weakness was this boy. He’d do his father’s will and get married, to keep what he desired: Taven. Taven’s weakness was not being someone, to not count, even as a slave, to be nameless and nonexistent, important to no one. Taven would do the Head Lord’s will, too, which was to serve the old man’s son with all the devotion he could muster, to get to keep what _he_ desired: an identity.

Nickel flushed red when he realized what it must have really been about. His father didn’t trust he knew what he was doing in the least, and had simply attempted to assure his son’s happiness for him, by buying the concubine’s devotion, paying with the name his son’s bed partner coveted so much.

Of all the condescending things his father could have done… How dared he? How _dared_ he? Nickel was so angry he sat up straight in the couch and fisted his hand in the air, opening his mouth as if to rant at his non-present father, but a gasp close to his ear aborted whatever curses had been about to spill over his lips.

“I… I’m sorry,” Taven squeaked at his side, flinching away from him. “I’m… Master, what did I say?”

Nickel blinked. “Oh... No! No, no, it wasn’t you. I was only… I just came to think of something. It wasn’t you.” He turned to Taven with an assuring smile, and caressed his cheek. “I’m sorry, Taven, I didn’t mean to scare you. Here’s the thing. You’re doing reasonably well attending me, and I’m most certainly not ashamed of you, but I’ve realized it’s too stressful for you. Being attended to in public isn’t so important to me it’s worth it to cause my concubine agony. It’s neither what I want, nor need. I’d rather enjoy your company in private, than regularly turn you into a nervous wreck. You really don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Really? It’s really not ‘cause I’m just shitty at it?”

Nickel smiled. “No,” he said. “It’s really not.”

There was no mistaking Taven’s relief, and if he hadn’t known it before, the slave’s whole demeanor now made it perfectly clear just how much the boy hated to attend him in public. 

“Thank you, Master,” Taven blurted out, all but collapsing over his lap, throwing skinny arms around his waist. “Thank you, thank you; _thank_ you!”

Nickel smiled at the exuberant show of gratitude and patted Taven’s head where the boy clung to him. 

He couldn’t stay angry with his father. The Head Lord’s intentions were good, after all, even if his recent tendency to interfere was infuriating. Taven was so happy and proud to have his name acknowledged, and it didn’t really matter why his father had done it. Surely, the Head Lord had only managed to ‘pay’ for something that was already in Nickel’s possession. 

Surely, Taven’s devotion was something he’d had for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	71. A Future Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked in the comments a while back if I intended to post as usual over the Holidays, and I thought I’d reply to that in the notes, as well, in case anyone else have wondered the same. The answer is that I will. Since the story is already written, and I’m not going anywhere during the Holidays, it’s not a bother for me to keep to the same schedule over Christmas and New Years, so, yeah, expect chapters every Sunday, as usual.
> 
> Since the Holidays _are_ rapidly coming, though, I have been unusually busy lately, and am therefore terribly late replying to last week’s comments. I’m sorry about that, and I’ll try to get back to all of you as soon as I can. 
> 
> /Fran

They were back in the classroom. 

Taven sighed and leaned back in the chair. As far as his lessons were concerned, Nickel had decided the holidays were over. However, this morning’s classes had yet to start and he was restless. Repeated sighs and fidgeting on his chair was proving inefficient in getting his master’s attention, the man concentrating on the computer on the teacher’s desk, and he could keep quiet no longer. 

“Master,” he tried. “Ain’t you gonna give me something to do?”

Nickel looked up from the screen. “You’re asking for an assignment? Well, that’s a first.” He smiled. “We’ll start soon, Taven, we’re only waiting for someone to join us.”

“Someone’s coming here? Who?”

“You’ll see,” Nickel answered, still smiling but turning his attention to the screen again.

It must be Silas, Taven thought. Mr. Roth often dropped off the boy while he was away doing other stuff over the day, or worked security at night. Yeah, it had to be Silas, who else could it be? Taven frowned at the thought. As much as he’d accepted Silas, he didn’t want the little slave in here, showing off, making their master smile and going on about how fucking good Silas was at everything. He couldn’t even imagine how long he would have to study to catch up with Silas.

“Master?” he tried again. “How long do free people go to school?”

This time Nickel abandoned the computer and walked over, leisurely sitting down on Taven’s desk. “It depends,” he answered. “Most free citizens go to school for at least nine years, but many continue for three or four more years. Then there’s university, of course. I went to school for twelve years myself.”

Taven’s jaw dropped. That many years? Of _this_? He’d never thought there could be anything in free peoples’ lives worse than what a slave had to endure, but maybe some stuff was. “Uh, you’re not gonna…? I mean, you’re not gonna make me learn for _that_ many years, are you?” 

Nickel laughed. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Taven didn’t know if he should be offended his worried question apparently had been so funny, or relieved his education promised to be shorter, but he soon enough got other things to think about.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Jonas stepping inside at their master’s approval. 

Taven stared. Jonas was the last person he’d expected. What on earth did their master want with the garage slave in here? 

Jonas seemed equally bewildered as he took another tentative step into the large hall and bowed deeply. Clearly, he had no idea what he was doing here either. 

“Come over here, boy!” Nickel ordered. “Sit down with Taven!”

Jonas hurried to obey. He grabbed a chair and sat down at Taven’s desk, careful not to let their elbows touch, looking down into his lap where he’d put his shaking hands, back straight as a rod. Taven wanted to give him an encouraging buff, but their master was still looking at them, and he didn’t dare to. 

“So,” Nickel started. “You must have been thirteen years old when I first implemented basic education for all workers. Is this correct?”

“Y- yes, Master,” Jonas confirmed, his voice as shaky as his hands. 

“According to my old notes, you were in a group of children I had Ada teach how to read and write. Were you at all able to learn?” Nickel asked. 

Taven frowned. Did Nickel think Jonas was stupid? 

Jonas turned red. “I… I- I did, Master. I can… I mean, I- I learned, but- but… Maybe n- not so good, and…”

Nickel cut off the stammered reply with an impatient wave of his hand. “That’s fine, boy, we’ll test you.” He walked over to the bookcases. “I’ll pick out some books, and we’ll find out.”

As soon as their master turned his back, Jonas lifted his gaze and looked about the room with ever widening eyes, his face finally taking on an expression of absolute gaping wonder when he spotted the enormous stuffed monster hanging from the ceiling deeper into the hall. Taven grinned. By now, he was so used to all the weird shit in here he’d forgotten his own amazement at his first visit. He leaned over; intending to whisper in Jonas’ ear it was only a big fish, but their master’s returning steps across the old creaking floorboards made him draw back again. 

Jonas snapped out of it, too, his gaze quickly dropping back to his lap as their master put down a pile of books before them. 

Well, Taven had to explain ‘Nancy, the Great Hammerhead Shark’ to his friend another time then. 

Nickel grabbed a book from the pile, opened it, and put it under Jonas’ nose. “Read this for me!” he ordered. 

Jonas received the book, but was now shaking so badly he could hardly hold it still enough to read, and it was clear he wasn’t able to get a word out. 

Their master sighed and shook his head with a deep frown, but just as Taven was about to butt in and inform the man Jonas was only nervous, Nickel’s demeanor changed. His expression softened, and he leaned over the desk with an encouraging smile. “Do try not to be so awfully nervous, boy. I have no demands on you at this point. I only want to know, that’s all. Nothing bad will happen if you can’t do it.”

Jonas gave the page another look then, clearing his throat, and after several stuttering attempts, finally managed to start to recite the text chosen for him. After a few sentences he seemed to gather a bit more confidence, his voice becoming steadier, and eventually he stopped stammering and stumbling on the words altogether, and got through the rest of the page without a single mistake. 

Taven grinned, proud of his friend, he knew Jonas could do it.

Nickel raised an eyebrow, pulling the book out of Jonas’ still shivering hands, looking over the text. “Well, a nursery rhyme is no challenge for you, I see. Let’s try something more difficult.” 

Another book was put before him, and this time Jonas managed to get into it almost right from the start, reading flawlessly from the page.

Damn, Taven thought, staring at his friend, Jonas read as well as Silas. It was with a sinking feeling he started to suspect he was pretty much the dumbest person on the whole estate. 

“What do you know,” Nickel said, giving Jonas a pleased smile. “It really is only nerves, isn’t it?”

Taven hid a sneer. He could have told their master that.

Just as with Silas, Nickel then also dictated a few sentences for Jonas to transcribe on a piece of paper, declaring at completion he’d sure seen prettier penmanship, but that it was correctly spelled, with all the punctuation in the right places. 

This, too, wasn’t as surprising to Taven as it, apparently, was to their master. Not that he would ever, _ever_, mention the secret notes Jonas used to smuggle to him in the dining hall. 

“Well,” Nickel said. “It’s obvious you _can_ learn these things well enough, so… We will arrange for you to join Taven at his classes regularly. Two or three mornings a week should be enough to further your education sufficiently.”

Taven imagined both Jonas and he must look equally dumbfounded at this announcement, staring at their owner in sheer astonishment. A lord, tutoring a worker? Even Taven understood this would be practically unheard of. There was no doubt Jonas realized this, too. The garage slave looked absolutely gobsmacked and didn’t make a sound beside him. 

Nickel grinned at them, but then his expression changed into a scowl, and he leaned over the desk, cupped Jonas’ chin in a strict hand and tilted his head back. “Open your mouth for me, boy!” he ordered, giving Jonas an appraising look as he obeyed. 

“These teeth really are all over the place, aren’t they?” Nickel commented. “Can you even chew your food properly?”

Jonas was stiff as a board in their master’s grip, but tried to give some kind of answer, the words garbled to the point of unrecognizable by the fact his mouth was still open. Nickel wasn’t listening in any case. 

“They do look awful,” he continued, letting go of Jonas’ chin. “I suppose we could have it corrected, though. Yes, braces would do the trick, I’m sure. I’ll take you to a dentist later on, for a consultation. It would be worth the money, I’m positive father would agree. You’re already quite tall and broad-shouldered; with better teeth and a few more years on you, I’d bet you’d look pretty smart in a driver’s uniform.”

Again, they were both astonished. Did their master really mean Jonas would get to…? Oh, Jonas would be so fucking excited, Taven thought. His friend always talked about the world outside the estate, and how badly he wanted to see stuff out there. However, Jonas didn’t show any of this excitement, Taven noticed. He still looked like he didn’t believe what was happening, staring as before, not making a sound. 

Nickel grinned, and shook his head. “Bruno _is_ in his early fifties,” he said. “I will need a new chauffeur sometime in the future. According to Bruno, you can handle a car as well as he does, but I wasn’t sure you would be able to study for a license. However, I can no longer see why not. Yes, I see no reason why we can’t train you up for the position.” 

Again, the amused smile changed into a stricter look. “You will have to study hard, slave, you do realize that? You will only have this one chance to prove to me you can do it.”

“Y- yes- yes, Master,” Jonas finally managed. “I- I… I can do it. I’ll do _anything_ to… I- I…”

“That’s good, boy,” Nickel interrupted. “Your classes will start next week, and I’ll call a dentist as soon as possible, as well. We just _have_ to do something about those teeth.”

Jonas clamped his mouth shut and hung his head. 

Taven frowned. Why did Nickel have to go on and on about Jonas’ teeth? It was making his friend feel bad, and there wasn’t anything wrong with them in any case. They might look a bit funny, but it wasn’t like they were all rotten, like his had been. If Nickel wanted to spend all that money on a worker, all of a sudden, then why didn’t he just buy them some fucking clothes. 

“Just give him a shirt instead,” Taven muttered, knowing opening his stupid mouth was probably not very smart, but when had he ever been smart?

“What was that?” Nickel asked, turning to him.

Taven sat up straight and gave his master a defiant look. “Jonas only has one shirt that ain’t all torn up, Master, for the _whole winter_, and- and that’s the one he’s wearing, so… Yeah!” 

Nickel turned back to Jonas. “Is this true, boy? That’s the only shirt you have left?”

Jonas looked consternated to say the least, staring at Taven as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that; then he turned brightly red and hung his head deeper. “I… I- I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be more careful with the clothes I’m given. I’m trying not to be careless, but in the garage, it’s… It’s… Oh, shit… I- I wasn’t… Please forgive me, Master, I’m not making excuses. It- it won’t happen again, I…”

“He ain’t being careless, Master,” Taven cut in. “They ain’t getting enough clothes.”

Again, Nickel turned to him, this time with a disapproving scowl. “Was I speaking to you? No? Then _be quiet_!”

Taven bit his lower lip and hung his head, too. Not very smart it was…

“Boy,” Nickel resumed. “You misunderstood me. I wasn’t accusing you of being careless. I’ll investigate this closer and reconsider the yearly amount of clothes workers are given, if it really isn’t enough. In the meantime, of course you should have more to wear. I’ll make sure you get it.” 

Jonas looked up, again astonished. “I… Thank you, Master. Th- thank you.”

Wow, Taven thought, that _worked_? 

He’d heard the workers complain to each other about the lack of clothing on numerous occasions, and apparently, it had been an issue for years and years. It seemed Nickel hadn’t known, and all anyone had ever needed to do was simply to tell him. 

Smart or not, butting in _had_ worked, and now his friend didn’t have to be so cold for the rest of the winter.

\-----o0o-----

He started to get worried. 

Nickel had spent the last hour mingling – he’d had an awkward and short conversation with Jan Steinbock, as well as a longer more pleasant chat with Constantine Engel, attended by an unusually subdued and well-behaved Serenity – but so far, there was no sign of Cecilia. Maybe he’d completely misunderstood her, and she had no intentions of coming here, or seeing him again. 

He didn’t know if he was relieved, or even more worried, when she finally did show up, unattended.

Walking into the hall, she smiled in his direction, but didn’t come up to him right away, halting to talk to a group of people, reaching up to kiss an older man on the cheek. Head Lord Roger Moon, Nickel noticed, Cecilia’s uncle, who looked straight at him over her shoulder with an inquisitive expression. Feeling slightly hot around the ears, Nickel wondered how much she had told her clan, and in that case, what they were thinking. Surely, they wouldn’t disapprove; surely, he couldn’t be considered an inappropriate candidate. 

He debated with himself if he should go up to them, but decided not to. What would he tell Cecilia’s relatives, after all - that he was her ‘almost maybe fiancé’? No, it was too soon. Besides, the clans might still practice arranged marriages, but these days it was never against anyone’s will. No one else than Cecilia and he needed to be involved at this early stage. Later, if things worked out well, he’d go the whole traditional ‘asking her Head Lord for permission’- route.

Cecilia finally worked her way up to him, nodding and smiling at a few of the people she passed, and he wondered how he should greet her. Friendly and casually, such as he’d done at the New Years Eve party, or more formally? Her relatives _were_ still looking, and… Cecilia solved the problem for him, by simply reaching up and giving him the same chaste, but intimate, kiss on the cheek she’d given her uncle. He returned it.

Now, other guests than the Moon clan members were staring at them. It started to feel like a bad idea, having ‘the talk’ here, where the tiniest little thing would start people gossiping. It would be embarrassing if _those_ speculations started and Cecilia then called the whole thing off after hearing what he had to say. Wouldn’t it have been better to do this more privately? However, The Club was Cecilia’s choice, and Nickel felt he simply couldn’t wait days or weeks without letting her know exactly what she was getting herself into. 

Even so, he couldn’t immediately make himself bring _anything_ up, and was soon mingling the hall again, this time with Cecilia at his side. Finally, she took the first step. 

“As cold as it is outside,” she said. “I think I need some fresh air. Would you join me on the balcony for a few moments?”

Nickel nodded, swallowing hard, if there were no smokers out there, if they found themselves alone, on the balcony, where no one could hear them… He had to seize the opportunity, and _say_ something. 

He went to collect their coats.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel closed the balcony door behind them; relieved and nervous in equal parts to see no one else outside. 

Cecilia pulled her coat closer around her, put her gloved hands on the icy railing, and sighed. “Such a relief to get out of there,” she said, looking out over the night lights of the city. “I never know what to say to people at these things, though anything vacuous enough seems to work just fine.” 

Nickel grinned, going to stand beside her. It wasn’t an altogether incorrect observation. 

Cecilia didn’t offer further opinions about the other guests, though, and the silence was pressing, both of them pretending to admire the view soon turning ridiculous. Nickel desperately tried to find a way to start the conversation he knew must be had. 

“Oh, this is silly, Nickel,” Cecilia finally said. “Let’s drop this polite chatter and pussyfooting. We both know what’s going on, so why don’t be open and honest with each other, what do you say?”

Nickel startled. “Uh. Um. Yes, you’re right, of course. We should…”

“Do you know why I fled for the mountains on Christmas?” She interrupted.

Nickel raised an eyebrow, confused at the apparent change of topic. Weren’t they speaking of the same thing, after all? “Uh, no, I can’t say I…”

She threw her hands up in exasperation, interrupting him again. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a clan woman in your thirties who are not yet married with children?” she said, angry puffs of chilled air emanating from her mouth. “Oh, I know, there’s pressure on you as well. Less important lords might get away easy, bachelors and playboys into old age and no one says a thing, but it’s different if you’re inheriting the Head Lord title. I know they’ll be at your back about it, too. It’s only it’s all around worse if you’re a woman.”

“I suppose it’s…”

“This country is practically crawling with insignificant ladies like me. Let _them_ marry and produce babies en masse. It’s not like the clans would face extinction if I refrained, but will they leave me alone? Oh no! Every holiday when we all come together, it’s the same. ‘You’re still not engaged, Cecilia?’, ‘you know, you wait much longer it might be too late to have children’, ‘will you not let us arrange something?’, ‘are you really serious about this ‘archeology-thing’, dear?’." 

She rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. 

“Oh, I _do_ want to be a mother,” she amended, her tone considerably milder. “I love children; it isn’t that, but…” 

Nickel kept silent this time. Obviously, she needed to get some things off her chest, and would do so regardless of if he tried to interject some words in between.

“The thing is,” she continued. “I _am_ very serious about my career. I’ve studied long and hard for this, and it’s far from a ‘simple distraction until I get married’. Out there, in the real world, there are young, modern women with meaningful careers, but all they ask of me is that I stay one step behind my clan husband with a stupid smile, pop out his babies, arrange fabulous parties now and then, and yell at the household slaves. What about me? What about my inner life, my interests, my _brains_…?”

Nickel nodded in all seriousness. He hadn’t really thought of these things from a lady’s perspective before, but he guessed what she was saying was true. 

She sighed again, pulling at her coat. “I’ve felt more or less like an alien all my life, and it wasn’t until I started at university I found an ‘intellectual home’. It was the first time I met people who shared my interests and understood my way of thinking. Of course, they’re all commoners.”

Nickel was bewildered. He wasn’t sure where she was going with all this. So far, it seemed she was telling him she didn’t want to marry at all. 

She gave him an unexpected mischievous smile. “Common _men_, Nickel. _Real_ men. Imagine; I finally met men who weren’t afraid to get some dirt on their hands. Who actually had interesting things to say and cared about subjects other than race horses and skeet shooting.” She sneered. “I vastly prefer a man who doesn’t need a slave to put his socks on for him in the morning.” 

Nickel was embarrassed, how much of this did she think applied to him? He did somewhat enjoy skeet shooting, after all. “I do know how to dress myself,” he pointed out, smiling sheepishly. 

She blushed. “Oh, I’m awfully sorry, Nickel. I wasn’t really talking about you. You’re different. I wouldn’t be speaking to you so honestly if I wasn’t convinced you are.” The mischievous smile was back. “But, what can I say. Intellectual _and_ rough, I find that kind of man attractive.”

Nickel nodded. Cecilia might not think he was a complete halfwit of a simpering inbred lord, he was relatively well read, after all, but his worry she would be romantically interested in him was obviously unfounded. Rough, he was not. 

“Well,” Cecilia continued. “I’ve been dating men in my field for years, and though I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, I most likely will again in the future. It’s always been in secret, of course, very discreetly, and usually while away working, or on field trips.” She grinned again. “My dear mother thinks me a virgin still, I’m sure. My family would freak out if… I hope this doesn’t shock you?”

Nickel raised an eyebrow. No, he wasn’t shocked, maybe a bit surprised, but… “Not at all,” he said, giving her an assuring smile.

She smiled back, looking relieved, but soon enough turned serious again. “Ah, you must be wondering where on earth I’m going with all this, since, obviously, you expect… Oh, I’ve gotten this far, I might as well be frank with you. I want a part of the modern life out there, Nickel. I want my career, and I want to date those men, but I… I can’t marry a commoner. Call me a coward, but I’m simply not brave enough to break with the Moon clan to such an extent. I can’t deny that I _am_ clan, and there are parts of clan life I neither can, nor want, to give up. I admit; I want the best of both worlds, and only want to settle down in an appropriate fashion to get my clan off my back. I do want the safety of a clan marriage, and the nice mansion. I do want children, and the ticking of my biological clock _is_ starting to get louder,”

Nickel nodded, he started to understand this. A traditional arranged clan marriage would in practicality, give the _lord_ exactly what she was describing, the best of both worlds. If he were only being discreet about things, the clans would rarely condemn a lord if he kept to his own interests and former lovers after marriage. This same privilege was rarely afforded a clan woman. Upon marrying, a lady was expected to uphold certain values. Cecilia was asking him for an arranged marriage that was also _equal_. If she were found out living such a double life, she would want his support against the clans, and maybe a promise he wouldn’t divorce her in the wake of the pressure they would exert on them. 

“I see,” he said. 

Her eyes were full of insecurity now. “I’m fully aware I’m asking a lot of you, without really having much bargaining power,” she said. “I’d do my part, of course. Whenever possible, I’d play the role of a perfect clan wife, and I’ll be a good mother. It’s an heir that you want, I understand, and I’ll provide. You can rest assured I’ve checked myself up. I’m healthy and fertile. I’ll be discreet with my ‘affairs’, as well, of course. I’d do everything in my power never to embarrass you.”

Nickel was speechless. She had really thought this through, hadn’t she? Obviously, she was way ahead of him.

“I know,” she continued. “I’m not of a prominent or wealthy line in the Moon clan, my father is the youngest of six brothers, and I’m aware my average looks, and not least my age, doesn’t give me extra bargaining power either.”

He tried to protest this, but she wouldn’t let him speak. “You are young and progressive, Nickel, that’s my impression. We can become good friends and business partners, I’m positive, and if anyone would understand my wish for safety while still wanting to live my own life, I’m convinced it would be you.”

Again, he was bewildered. What did she mean?

She smiled a little shakily. “I hope you don’t mind if I become personal, but it’s also my impression my looks might actually not mean much to you in any case? I couldn’t help noticing your quite striking attendant. He’s very… Pretty, I suppose, is the only fitting word. Your father tells me the slave is in fact your concubine. It’s so rare to… Especially a male. He must mean a lot to you?”

Again, she hurried to keep speaking as he tried to get a word in. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a problem to me. On the contrary, you’d be hard pressed to find a wife who would be less at your back about such things. Correct me if I’m wrong, but… You want to live your own life as desperately as I do… with men?” 

Oh, Nickel thought. Cecilia thought he was gay. She wanted an arrangement similar to the one Lord Constantine Engel had successfully kept up for decades with his wife Portia. 

Well, she wasn’t altogether wrong, of course, however, he still felt a need to clarify. 

“Cecilia,” he started. “I appreciate your honesty, and the least I can do is to be as honest in return. You’re not entirely correct. I’m not… Well, I _am_ attracted to women, too, and you shouldn’t put yourself down like this. You’re a beautiful woman, and I enjoy your company. I agree, I think we can become good friends. It's only that… Oh, I suppose I should just be frank, as well. I’m not gay, Cecilia, but I _am_ bisexual and it just so happened… That boy…”

She smiled warmly. “You’re in love with him, and not at all interested in anyone else, man _or_ woman.”

Nickel felt his cheeks go hot. “I… I can’t deny it.”

She nodded; the warm smile lingering. “As I said, I understand completely. So, am I wrong in hoping you’d agree with my views on the matter?” 

Nickel thought about it. Would he agree? Yes, of course he would. It simply wasn’t fair to demand the freedom to keep a concubine in his bed, while denying his future wife the company that satisfied _her_. He was lucky to have found someone so accepting of his preferences, and he didn’t want a miserable wife on his conscience. If the clans had something to say about it, then screw them. “No, you’re not wrong,” he said emphatically. “I agree with everything you’ve said.”

“So, does this mean we have an understanding?” she asked, still not entirely sure it seemed, they were coming to an agreement. 

“We have an understanding,” Nickel said, smiling.

“No hesitation?”

Nickel shook his head. “None whatsoever.” 

She smiled back then and reached her hand out to him. “Then let’s shake on it!” she said.

Shake on it? Nickel had to chuckle at her non-traditional way of going about this, but she was right of course. This was business, after all, not romance. He took her hand, they shook on it, and that was that. 

He was going to get married.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel felt strangely elated as he started for the staircase. 

Having sorted things out between them, Cecilia and he had both called it a night, neither of them particularly interested in the ongoing party. They’d parted ways inside the balcony door, in front the restrooms, Cecilia returning to the hall to wish her relatives a good night, Nickel taking the stairs down to the parking level.

Ever since signing the contract he’d worried so intensely about this whole thing, afraid he wouldn’t find someone he could tolerate, or who would understand him. All these worries had come to naught and tonight, his relief quite worked as a sufficient stand in for the romantic happiness of normal wedding plans. It was true, they hardly even knew each other, but it wasn’t as if she would turn up on his doorstep tomorrow morning in any case, they would have plenty of time. 

First, Cecilia had asked they postpone their plans until she returned from an extensive excavation abroad, long in the plans, and then the engagement would last for at least a year, before any vows were made. Maybe even longer, depending on how big of a wedding their clans would insist on. They might have ‘shook on it’ tonight, but it would be at least eighteen months before Cecilia would move in as the new mistress of the Wren Mansion. 

He supposed they could insist on getting things out of the way and speed up the process, but they had agreed, for once clan proprieties worked in their favor. They knew what they wanted, and would walk into this with open eyes, but they weren’t in a hurry. They’d settled for a traditional engagement. 

Yes, it was amazing how readily they agreed on everything. He did have a good feeling about this.

Turning on a landing, Nickel was abruptly brought out of his musings when he nearly bumped into a startled Serenity coming up the stairs, but the blond slave quickly composed himself and gave him a formal bow. “Master!” 

“Well, well, Serenity,” Nickel said. “Considering how well you behaved before, I actually thought Constantine had put his foot down; and not a day to soon, but here you are, running about by yourself as usual, being up to God knows what kind of mischief. You _are_ incorrigible, aren’t you?” 

He wasn’t scolding Serenity with much conviction, even smiling a little. Nickel was still in much too good a mood to be anything else than amused. 

“Oh, I’m still behaving, it’s just… Slaves need to go to the toilet to, you know,” Serenity pointed out, venturing a cheeky smile, and a tentative familiar tone. 

Nickel let it pass. 

“Oh, is that so? Well, last I looked the restrooms are _up_ the stairs, not down here.”

Serenity only shrugged his shoulders, blue eyes glimmering, not attempting to explain himself. “Master,” he requested instead, dropping his impish demeanor. “I haven’t seen Taven since before Christmas. I rather miss him. Would it be all right if I took him back to the cottage soon? Or... it doesn’t have to be very soon. Whenever it suits you, I can wait. Please?” 

“I’ll think about it,” Nickel promised. “Call me and we’ll see, but for now… Go back to your master! I’m on my way home, and I’m sure he will think there’s something wrong with you and drag you to the doctor’s office if you need this long in the restroom.”

Serenity grinned and bowed again. “Yes, Master,” he said, stepping aside, letting Nickel pass. “Thank you, Master,” he added to Nickel’s back. “I’ll call then. Tell Taven I said ‘hi’!”

Nickel gave him a generous wave over his shoulder, but continued down the stairs without looking back.

\-----o0o-----

Taven was asleep in Nickel’s bed when he came back home and he carefully slipped under the covers beside the boy, cuddling close to the warm body. He tried not to wake him, but Taven still stirred and murmured before he turned with half-lidded eyes. 

“Master? You home already? Was it a good night?” he asked, seemingly not quite awake.

Should he tell him, Nickel wondered, but… no, not yet. Not yet. 

“Not as good as coming home,” he answered, but Taven was already asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	72. Little Boy Lost

The house slaves might not be complete strangers to Taven anymore, but apart from Jonas, most of the workers still kept their distance, which was why the smiling group surprised him so much. 

They didn’t quite meet him head on when he walked down to the garage to see his friend, but they were close enough, passing by carrying shovels, their waves and grins couldn’t have been aimed at anyone else. When one of them kept looking down at his feet, shuffling through the snow, the others put a few elbows in his sides until he looked up in confusion and waved at him, too, a sheepish grin on his weathered and bearded face.

Taven gave the group a tentative wave in return without slowing down, unsure if they were only making fun of him, but as soon as he stepped into the garage, Bruno, too, acted similarly strange. 

It wouldn’t be entirely correct to say Bruno smiled at him, but the twitchy grimace did seem considerably friendlier than the usual frowns and glares. Taven was even more mystified when the trusty said he’d take over Jonas’ chores for a while so they could sit down to talk.

This was highly unusual. Bruno usually demanded of Jonas he socialized while working, Taven trying his best not to be in the way, or getting dirty, as he followed close on Jonas’ heels around the workshop. Well, he wasn’t going to question the sudden generosity. They drew back to a quieter corner, and Jonas lined a propped up plank – which served as a bench – with old newspaper for Taven to sit on, before plopping down beside him at a suitable distance. 

They hadn’t been able to sit down together like this since… No, Taven didn’t want to think about that horrible day. “Okay,” he said instead. “What the fuck is going on with everybody?”

“What do you mean?” Jonas said; grinning, showing he knew very well what was going on.

Taven frowned. “Some workers were kinda smiling and waving at me and shit, and then Bruno is all… What the fuck’s going on?”

“They’re only trying to thank you,” Jonas said. 

“Thank me?” Taven really didn’t understand anything now. “For what?”

“For giving each and every one of us a whole extra set of clothes, shoes and all.”

“What?” Taven said. Their master had already… To _all_ of them? “But… I didn’t…”

“Yes, Taven,” Jonas interrupted, looking serious. “You did. If you hadn’t spoken up… This helps us all so much, you don’t even know, and I made sure everybody knows it was because of you.” He started grinning again. “You’re gonna get plenty more smiles and waves in the coming days, so might as well get used to it.”

Taven looked away, blushing. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he didn’t know what to say. Having done something good, people liking him, it felt amazing. Only… He looked back in worry. “They don’t think I can do stuff like that now, do they? I mean it’s not like I could… I mean…”

“No,” Jonas assured him. “Don’t worry, they won’t hassle you about stuff. They’re just grateful you risked speaking up, they don’t expect anything.”

“Oh, good! Uh, I gotta tell you though, I just didn’t want you to be cold anymore, that’s all, but it’s good everybody else had new clothes, too, and… I’m really happy for you, too, that you’re gonna get a driver’s license, and all that.”

Jonas beamed beside him. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s so amazing; I think I’m dreaming still. Being sent upstairs, I was so scared going up there I thought I was gonna throw up. That Master would… Yeah, that was the last I expected, believe me. I’m just waiting for him to change his mind any second now. I mean, it was only a few months ago I thought he was gonna- gonna… and then he… Yeah, it’s a _miracle_.” Jonas smiled shyly. “Or, was it you?”

Taven grinned and shook his head. “I really don’t have that kind of influence, you know. I didn’t do a fucking thing; I was as surprised as you.” He silenced, seeing his friend’s smile die down. “If- if I had thought of it, and thought he’d listen, I’d have asked him though, I would.”

“I know,” Jonas said, smiling again. “No matter what made Master do this, I’m just so happy and excited, and- and now were gonna see each other even more, and… Oh, you’ll still come here, won’t you, even if we’re gonna see up in the classroom?”

Taven nodded. “I think so. Master hasn’t said I can’t, though I won’t again this week. Serenity invited me over and Master said it was okay.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, smiling still, but not quite able to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Do you like seeing Serenity?”

Taven shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. He can be annoying as hell, but he ain’t that bad, once you get to know him. He knows a lot of stuff.”

“He used to visit Master often,” Jonas said. “You know, before you came here. “We workers down here only ever saw him from a distance of course, but he seemed so… My jaw dropped to the floor when Sarah told me he was slave. I would have never in a million years… You know, the way he looks and walks… like… I would have never guessed.”

Taven nodded. He knew exactly what Jonas meant. It wasn’t really the way Serenity dressed, or talked, or even how he sometimes behaved. It was in how he walked with his head held high, as if he’d never bent his neck in his life. 

“He just _looks_ free somehow,” Jonas concluded. “Doesn’t that make you nervous?”

Taven shrugged again. It used to, but it didn’t anymore. Serenity’s confidence, it was all just one big act anyway. “Believe me,” he said. “Serenity ain’t _nothing_ like a free man.” Taven sneered. “There’s nothing special about him. We’re both concubines, you know, and I’m an exotic, too, he ain’t.” 

Jonas’ smile died out in an instant and his gaze dropped to his hands in his lap. “I- I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I know that, really, I do. I- I don’t mean any disrespect, blabbering on like this, and- and…”

No, shit, that wasn’t what he’d meant. Taven had only wanted to point out that if Serenity wasn’t more than someone like himself was, then the fancy Engel concubine really wasn’t special. Instead, he’d put Jonas in his place, and driven the wedge between them deeper. In moments like this, the lifelong security of concubinage meant nothing to Taven, and the only thing he could feel about his status in this house, was hate. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he hurried to say. “Don’t stop talking to me again!” he pleaded.

Jonas was still hanging his head and took long to answer. “It’s just, I don’t get it,” he finally said. “Master lets you have such nice friends. Serenity, that other boy… I don’t know his name, but he’s also… They’re so… They’re like you. Why do you wanna be friends with me?”

Taven sighed in frustration. “They’re not like me,” he protested. “Or, I mean, I’m not like them. I’m not. I’m really not. I like them, I do, but I like you more.”

Jonas gave up a nervous laugh. “I’m probably completely insane to question that,” he said. “But, why? I know I’m ugly as sin and my teeth…”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with your teeth,” Taven interrupted. Damn Nickel to hell. “And you _ain’t_ fucking ugly.”

Jonas looked up then, and turned to him in what seemed like an uncharacteristic bout of both resentment and bitterness. “That’s easy for you to say,” he said. “You’re gorgeous, and you have perfect teeth.”

Taven did understand this wasn’t a good time to laugh, but he couldn’t help himself. “They ain’t mine,” he grinned. 

“Uh?” Jonas said.

“They ain’t my teeth,” Taven clarified. “They’re only perfect, ‘cause they’re fake.” 

Jonas’ eyes widened in surprise. “_You_ have false teeth?”

Taven nodded.

“Wow, I would have never… So, can you take them out?”

He grinned again. “No, they’re sort of screwed into the jawbone. They don’t move, and a few are my own, too, but most are… I don’t know what they’re made of, but it looks really real. You’d have talked to me before Master paid for these, yeah, you wouldn’t have been so impressed, believe me. You see now? I’m not perfect, you’re not perfect, Serenity and Silas, they _are_ fucking perfect. I like you more.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, looking away with a blush. There was no mistaking his happiness at hearing this. 

It made Taven hopeful the wedge wasn’t driven so deep, after all.

“Um, yeah, so, um…” Jonas floundered, trying to rein in his grin. “So, it cost a lot of money? Your teeth I mean?”

“Are you kidding me?” Taven said. “They fucking cost like ten times more than I did.”

“Really?” Jonas said, again making big eyes. “_That_ expensive? Master probably didn’t mean it then, did he, about taking me to a dentist? I mean, no way would he spend that much on a worker, right?” 

Taven only shrugged his shoulders. “He’s the weirdest fucking master I’ve ever met, he said it; he probably meant it.”

Jonas looked nervous now. “You really think so? I- I never been to the dentist’s. Is it scary, does it hurt?”

Taven squirmed on the makeshift plank seat. “Nah,” he lied. “It ain’t a big deal.” He didn’t want to scare Jonas, he didn’t want to explain what they had done to him, and he sure didn’t want to admit he’d been so fucking terrified they had had to put him under for it. 

“Ah, well, I guess I’ll see for myself,” Jonas finally said when Taven didn’t explain closer. As usual, he didn’t push it. 

While Taven scrambled for a change of subject, one of the maids came inside the workshop, seemingly with a message for Bruno. He frowned at the sight of her, Lena being the least likely of the house slaves to be friendly with him. Ever since she’d snapped at him for hurting Silas, she’d avoided him like the plague. Not that Taven minded.

She only talked with Bruno for a brief moment, but didn’t leave without looking back over her shoulder to scowl in their direction. 

Taven made a similar expression in return; glad to see the back of her as she closed the door. “Yeah,” he snarled. “_She_ ain’t gonna wave and smile any fucking time soon.”

His friend seemed less than comfortable with their open animosity. “She doesn’t mean anything bad,” he said. “She’s kinda like that to everybody. Please don’t be mean to her, Taven, she sort of had a tough life.”

Taven was quick to snarl again. “Tough life? In _this_ house?” He rolled his eyes.

Jonas only frowned a little. “Things happen here, too,” he argued.

“Like what?” Taven wanted to know, sincerely doubting he’d be impressed with any complaints she might have. As long as he’d been here, he’d never seen anything particularly bad happening to anyone, especially not the house slaves. 

It was Jonas’ turn to squirm beside him now. “I shouldn’t tell, I’m not even supposed to know. Back then, Lena only told Sarah, and Sarah told me, and if I tell you, you have to promise not to tell _anyone_.”

Taven nodded, curious to hear more. “I promise, I ain’t gonna say a word,” he said.

“Okay then. A few years ago, just after Master had taken over the estate and Old Master had moved out, there was this huge leak in the basement under the big house. There was like a lake down there and it stunk to high heaven. None of the workers knew how to fix it, so Master called a plumber.”

“So?” Taven said, not understanding what some broken pipes, or something, had to do with Lena being such a bitch.

“It was a serious problem,” Jonas went on. “That man had to stay down there for ages. Master wanted to be nice, so he told the maids to fix the plumber a snack. They sent Lena down there with a plate of sandwiches, and… he… That man, he fucked her down there. She was only twelve, you know, she’d never done _that_ before.”

“What?” Taven said. “What the fuck! She told on him, right?”

Jonas shook his head, looking sad. “She didn’t say anything to anyone, well, except Sarah. I mean, what could she say? He told her he had Master’s permission, that he could have her, you know, like the sandwiches. She had no reason not to believe that.” Jonas looked down at his big hands with a bitter sneer. “That’s what masters do, after all, lend their slaves out for… stuff, and we all know that. Master borrowed a slave for things like that himself. She was scared she’d be punished if she complained. Lena told Sarah it was horrible. The plumber had held a hand over her mouth and nearly choked her. She said it hurt like hell, too, you know, down there, and she bled, and had a lot of problems for a long time. 

“Well, she’s been kinda weird ever since. She don’t mean to be rude, or anything.” 

Taven didn’t know where his anger came from. “He wouldn’t have done that,” he shouted at Jonas, making his friend flinch. “He would’ve never punished her if she’d told. Master would never send a kid to be fucked, and if you all think that then you’re fucking _wrong_.” 

“You- you really think so?” Jonas asked.

Taven raised his hands in frustration. “Yes! Fucking, yes! Master ain’t like that. Lena should have told him. No way did he let that fucking asshole have her. I’m telling you, he never knew, and if he’d known, he would have fucking kicked that plumber’s ass.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, looking even sadder, silently picking at a loose thread on his pants. “I guess it’s too late now,” he finally said. “It’s been years, and we can’t really tell Lena that. She’ll be pissed at Sarah for telling me. Maybe she’s forgotten about it now?” Jonas added, hope in his voice. “She probably wouldn’t want to be reminded.”

Taven looked away to shake his head. She hadn’t forgotten. You never forgot. 

He felt a sort of resigned and dulling despair coming over him. Jonas was right, it was too late, and Nickel would probably say so, as well. It wasn’t as if he would go into the city four years later only to find that plumber and stir shit up, not for the sake of a slave. It probably wouldn’t make Lena feel better anyway, so, why bother? 

Taven didn’t even know anymore what the hell he’d gotten so angry and upset about in the first place. She’d only been raped once, that was like nothing. She’d been through it a few hundred times; _then_ she could start complaining about shit.

Still, what if it was _he_ who was wrong about their master. Nickel had kicked Swift in the face, only for what he’d done to his private plaything, but would he do the same for a maid who’d never served him personally? Hell, maybe Nickel _had_ given that man permission. Taven didn’t want to believe it – the master he knew wouldn’t do a thing like that – but what did he know, really? 

Taven had angrily defended his master, but deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

\-----o0o-----

He took a seat in Serenity’s dusty living room, Serenity handing him an opened soda bottle, before slumping down in a chair just across from his, as usual. Taven leaned back and relaxed, remembering how the fizzy drink had once been something new and unique he thought he would never get to taste again. He grinned at the bottle in his hand, putting it to his lips; he’d had many sodas since.

”So,” Serenity started. ”How was Christmas?” 

“Not as bad as I thought,” Taven said. He debated with himself if he should tell Serenity the whole story of his conflicts with the old lord, and how scared he’d been to be stripped of his privileges and thrown out, but decided the other concubine didn’t need to know. He’d rather take this rare opportunity to be the one who finally had a reason to brag a little. “The old lord gave me a Christmas gift,” he said. 

Serenity looked satisfyingly surprised. “Really? That old miser? What did he give you then?”

“This!” Taven said and pointed at himself with a smirk.

Serenity frowned. “What?” he said. “Yourself?”

“My name,” Taven clarified. “He wrote it on my contract with his own hand, and gave it to me himself. It’s, like, official now.” He couldn’t help smiling in pride. 

Serenity smiled back, but he didn’t even try to hide how fake it was. “Well, well,” he said, a sour tone in his voice. “That’s awfully generous, isn’t it, his own dead son’s name and everything. Tell the truth, I was always kinda surprised he didn’t just force Nickel to take it back right away. Strange as it is, you really must have made a good impression on the old man, after all. Wrote it down himself, eh, on your _contract_, no less. Huh! Not even Constantine bothered with doing that.”

He gave up a bitter snort and raised his bottle in the air. “Well, here’s to you then, _Taven_. Guess you needed the cheering up, now that Nickel’s getting married and all.” 

Taven froze, his smile dying out in an instant. “Wh- what?”

“Oh.” Serenity winced. “You… You didn’t know.” 

Taven couldn’t answer, it was as if the world had stopped around him and he wasn’t sure he was even breathing anymore. He was only vaguely aware of shaking his head. Of course he didn’t know, because, that just couldn’t be true.

Serenity looked embarrassed now. “Oops,” he said. 

Taven finally found his voice. “You- you’re lying,” he said. “How would you even know? He- he wouldn’t fucking tell _you_.”

“Uh, well, he didn’t. I kinda eavesdropped on him,” Serenity admitted.

“Where? When?” Taven gasped. He wanted to be angry but he was still so confused, reeling from the possibility only, he could do nothing else than ask Serenity to make sense of this for him.

“Well, at The Club, last Saturday. He was there with this blond lady from the Moon clan, and there was just something between them, I could tell from a mile away. Then Constantine allowed me to go take a piss and I saw them out on the balcony, which was a bit weird in this cold, you know. Nickel doesn’t smoke, and she wasn’t either. I just had to crouch down under the windows and put my ear to the door, and, well… I didn’t hear it all from the start, but believe me; I heard enough. They’re going to get married, all right, no doubt about it.”

Taven blanched.

“He really hasn’t told you?” Serenity asked. 

Taven shook his head. He felt sick. His master was going to get married, to a woman, a clan lady, and he hadn’t even been told. Why? Why hadn’t Nickel told him? If Nickel liked someone else, wanted to be with someone else, and if he wasn’t even replaced with another slave, but with a free woman, what did this mean? What did it mean, for him? 

“Hey, you’re all right?” Serenity asked, trying to get his attention, waving his hand in front his eyes. 

“I…” Taven couldn’t answer. How the fuck was he to know if he was all right? He didn’t even know if he still had a life. Serenity’s master hadn’t married _his_ wife to be with her, but Nickel wasn’t like that. Would he marry someone and then just ignore her? Taven didn’t think so. 

“Damn!” Serenity swore. “Damn, Taven, I’m sorry. I thought you knew, and I didn’t think you’d get so… I’m sorry, okay. Look, don’t worry about it. It probably won’t change anything.”

“How the fuck would you know?” Taven yelled in desperation.

“I know, okay?” Serenity maintained. “Listen, it’s obviously an arranged marriage. The way they talked about it… It’s an arranged marriage, Taven, and Nickel would never marry someone who would want you gone. Believe me, I know him that well, he wouldn’t. He isn’t in love with her or anything. Nickel doesn’t even know her. If he knew her, I would know, and I haven’t even seen her before. I only know she’s a Moon lady because I heard people talk. Believe me; he’s only doing this because his dad has been on his back about it. He’ll turn twenty-seven soon, you know, and his dad is really old. He has to be married when he becomes the next Head Lord.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t he just tell me then?” Taven said, only marginally lowering his voice.

Serenity sighed. “Maybe because he knows you’d act like this? Yelling and going on. Yeah, I can’t imagine why he would want to postpone _that_ conversation as long as possible.” He rolled his eyes. “But there _is_ nothing to worry about. This is what a concubine is for, after all, so they can keep us in their beds, no matter what their wives say, and they _have_ to have wives. There has to be kids, you know, and as far as I know, neither of us can get pregnant.” 

Kids? Taven moaned. He hadn’t even thought of there being children. Maybe Nickel’s wife really wouldn’t mind him, just as Lady Portia didn’t seem to mind Serenity, but Constantine’s _son_ hated him. What if Nickel’s children would grow up hating him, too? One day they would inherit him. Again, Taven was reminded of how worthless the promised security of concubinage really was, again, he felt sick. 

“Please, just forget about this now,” Serenity tried. “I _am_ sorry I sprung it on you like this, but it really isn’t a big deal. I didn’t ask you over for this, and I never meant to upset you. On the contrary, I have a surprise for you.” Serenity reached over and patted his leg in comfort, giving him a wide smile. 

A surprise? Taven scowled deeply, eyeing Serenity with suspicion. He was still pretty damn upset, and the last thing he wanted right now was another of Serenity’s ‘surprises’. 

Serenity ignored his less than enthusiastic demeanor. “I’ll cheer you right up again,” he promised. “You remember I said we were gonna celebrate you getting the privileges, right? Yeah, I know, that was _ages_ ago, but I haven’t forgotten, it only took some time because…” Serenity cut himself short to turn in the chair, groping behind the pillows at his back, then, before Taven’s widening eyes, he pulled out a thick bunch of bills from between the cushions and fanned them out, grinning like the sun. “I had to save up,” he said. 

Taven stared at the money, not understanding.

“We’re going shopping,” Serenity announced, his blue eyes glimmering. 

Taven was stunned silent. “Are you actually insane for real or just stupid?” he finally managed. 

Serenity frowned at him. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a bore!”

“Are you fucking nuts,” Taven said. “I ain’t going into the city with you.”

“Come on,” Serenity whined. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve given up to be able to save this amount of money? I did that for _you_.” He pouted and seemed to do his best to impersonate a sad puppy. 

Taven hesitated.

“There’s no risk,” Serenity cajoled. “I’ve thought of everything. Constantine isn’t at home, and I know exactly when he returns. The others here won’t tell on us, since as far as they know I’ll only be driving you back home, and I know which roads to take so it won’t look like we’re heading into the city. Nickel will never know either; we’ll be back long before he expects you home.”

“Yeah, with a lot of new stuff,” Taven pointed out. “How the hell am I gonna hide that from him?”

Serenity sighed as if he was stupid. “There’s no reason going shopping if you can never wear it in front of him, is it? You’re not going to hide anything; on the contrary, you’re going to show him. Tell him I bought it for you, that it was waiting for you here in the cottage. Like a late Christmas present, or something. He knows I’m going shopping on my own now anyway, and he would hardly be surprised to learn I’ve been dying to dress you up for the longest time.”

“You have?” Taven said, not letting up on his angry glares. 

“Are you kidding me, cutie like you…? I’ve wanted to correct Nickel’s hideous choices for you since day one. All these baggy things, hiding every inch of you… I don’t know _what_ he’s thinking. He used to have taste, you know. Oh, you can choose your own stuff, too, of course. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for it, but I have plenty ideas, if you’d care to listen to the advice of an actual expert on the subject.” Serenity grinned widely, looking like he couldn’t wait to play with him like a fucking dress up doll. 

He meant to refuse, he really did. Taven didn’t need Serenity’s ‘fashion advice’. The baggy clothes he wore around his perfect friend were his own choices, and Nickel knew perfectly well how to dress his slave nicely when needed. He really wasn’t interested in shopping in any case; Serenity was such a stupid fucking idiot to think this would be ‘celebrating’ in his eyes. Above all, his master would never approve of this, not in a million years. It was such a complete given Taven should refuse, but… 

His master would _marry_ and hadn’t even told him. Taven was angry, and he was fucking _hurt_. 

“Okay,” Taven said. “We’ll go.”

“Yay!” Serenity said. “I knew it! We’re gonna have so much fun, you’ll see. Now, give me your earrings!” He held out his hand. 

“What?” Taven said, his own hands going to his ears.

“Your earrings,” Serenity repeated, waving his long fingers impatiently. “Take those boring hoops out, and I’ll buy you diamond studs instead, like mine. They’ll suit you much better.”

“You have money enough for that?” Taven asked. Wasn’t diamonds really valuable stuff? 

Serenity grinned. “I have enough for cubic zirconia,” he said. “It’s practically the same thing. Come on, hand them over.”

Taven obeyed, opening the hoops, pulling them out and putting them in Serenity’s demanding hand. He _had_ always been kind of envious of Serenity’s sparkling studs. 

Serenity demonstratively slammed the hoops down on a sideboard and got up from his chair. “Let’s go,” he said, as eager as Taven had ever seen him. “We’ll fix you up in a way Nickel will never care about that wife of his.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven looked out the car window in worry when Serenity drove into the large parking lot outside the mall. “The mall?” he said, not having realized this was where they were going.

“Yeah, I know,” Serenity said, “but what did you expect? I’d have to save up for at least a year to be able to shop at the boutiques in High Street. The mall will have to do.”

Taven would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t so uneasy, that wasn’t what he’d meant. He must tell Serenity they had to go back, right away.

“Okay,” Serenity said, before Taven had a chance to open his mouth. “Ground rules. Anywhere outside this car, I’m the free man, and you’re my slave, get it?”

“What the fuck?” Taven swore. “Are you fucking nuts? I ain’t gonna be your slave, you fucking idiot.” 

Serenity tut-tutted him and shook his head. “Try to be reasonable, Taven,” he said. “We can’t both pretend to be free men. Even if you don’t have a tag anymore, everything about you just screams ‘slave’, but _I_ have done this before. I’m the one who knows how to carry myself, and doesn’t sound like a South End hooligan whenever I open my mouth. You have to know we can’t do it the other way around?”

Taven glared, Serenity was right, of course, but the mere idea still made him snarl in anger. 

Serenity smiled sweetly. “I won’t take advantage of the situation,” he promised. “I won’t make you do stupid things, or boss you around, or anything. It’s just for show, so people won’t take notice of us.”

“Yeah, I fucking get that, but…”

“Great!” Serenity interrupted, and then promptly got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. 

Taven only hesitated for a few seconds before getting out of the car as well, automatically falling in line two steps behind Serenity as the tall slave remote-locked the car over his shoulder and went for the main entry with long strides. He was wary about going into the mall, to say the least, but he didn’t want to be left alone in the freezing parking lot either, and Serenity wasn’t waiting. 

He got increasingly more nervous walking inside behind Serenity who aimed straight for the escalators and the fancier, more expensive, stores on the top floor. His heart pounded in his chest, his eyes flitting about, trying to scan everything around him at the same time as keeping an eye on Serenity’s every move. No matter how angry he’d been with his fellow concubine in the car, Taven had no problems whatsoever acting as his slave now. Serenity’s ability to appear as a free man was all the protection they had, after all. 

They reached the gallery on the top floor where Serenity pulled him up to his side to inform him of the boutiques they passed in a low voice. “I’ve been in this one with Constantine,” he said, pointing to an entry. “They have some really nice stuff, but they might recognize me, better not go in there. We’ll skip this one too, no good stuff in there, cheap imported shit, don’t know how they were allowed a space up here… Okay, this is a good one; they never ask questions. You’ve been here before, I think.” 

Taven looked about as they walked inside the store. Yes, he had. He remembered the place as the store Nickel had taken him to when they had run into Serenity. 

“Don’t worry,” Serenity grinned. “I won’t pick out any women’s clothes this time, I promise.”

Serenity pulled him in between the racks with ill-concealed eagerness, and slowly managed to enthuse Taven, too, at least somewhat. Serenity really wasn’t as bossy about shopping, as Taven had feared. Nickel never asked him what he wanted, confident he knew what would suit his slave the best, but Serenity seemed to think it was fun to involve him. 

Taven was annoyed at first; having no answers to the avalanche of questions about his preferences, but when he finally managed to convey how he actually didn’t like black _and_ was being listened to – Serenity simply putting back the suggested black sweater – looking for clothes suddenly seemed a tiny bit funnier. 

Somehow, he forgot to be scared. Surely, they were safe up here, far from the mixed crowds down on the ground floor. 

“I mean,” Serenity said, picking out the same knitted sweater again, but in red this time. “Why _couldn’t_ a redhead wear red? You wanna try on this one?”

Taven looked the red sweater over. It seemed soft and nice and had an oversized collar he could hide in, nothing revealing about it. He’d feared Serenity would insist he tried on skintight and see-through things only. He nodded. 

They walked over to the fitting rooms and Taven slipped into a stall.

“You want some… ‘help’ in there?” Serenity asked through the flimsy door, a grin in his voice. 

“No, you fucking perv,” Taven hissed back, pulling his shirt off, the red sweater waiting on its hanger. “And I’ll kick you in the fucking balls if you try to sneak a peek.”

Serenity gave up a soft laugh in reply. “I’m just teasing, Taven, you know I’d never disrespect your privacy. Honest, I wouldn’t.”

There was silence while Taven pulled the sweater over his head and looked at himself critically in the mirror. He’d need a smaller size, the sleeves were much too long, but it was as comfortable as it looked, so soft, and somehow the copper of his hair popped against the completely different red of the sweater. His master would like that. 

“Hey, Taven,” came the voice through the stall door again, interrupting his admiration of the daring color. “We’re having fun now, right?”

Were they? Yeah, Taven guessed they actually were. “Sure,” he answered to the door, smiling a little. “I think I want the sweater,” he added. “It’s just, it’s too big.”

“No problems,” Serenity said. “I’ll go get another, one size down, if they have any, you tiny, tiny creature.”

Serenity did find him the right size, and they left the store with the red sweater in a bag swinging from Serenity’s arm. Taven followed into the next boutique without hesitation. This whole ‘shopping on your own thing’ was a breeze, really.

He’d watched Serenity closely while he paid for the sweater, and it was almost scary how easy he made it seem. Tall, stunningly handsome and exuding confidence, it was clear Serenity had made the young woman behind the counter buy the whole charade without a hint of suspicion on her side. She’d smiled at him serviceably, seemed to think nothing of the fact he had no wallet but paid cash from a rolled up wad of bills pulled out of his pants pocket, and had called him ‘Sir’ while wishing him a good day, hoping he would be happy with his purchase. 

She hadn’t spared Taven a glance.

Serenity might be an annoying brag, but he wasn’t lying, he _was_ good at this. 

They visited two more stores, buying a few more items, before heading back down the gallery, and the jewelry store. Taven surprised himself with how eager he was when he realized that’s where they were going. Never mind the clothes, those sparkling studs was what he really wanted. Jonas would love them, he thought, and he couldn’t wait to show them to him. Nickel would like them too, no doubt.

However, this was where they ran into problems for the first time. 

The jewelry store had its own security in the form of a short and stocky uniformed man who promptly stepped in their way, stopping them right on the threshold. 

Taven’s heart nearly stopped, too. Had they been found out? 

If Serenity feared the same, he didn’t show it. He didn’t break character for a second, glaring at the security guard, looking down at the much shorter man along his finely sculpted nose. “_Excuse_ me?” he said, as condescending as any lord Taven had ever seen. 

No matter what, Taven had to admire Serenity’s dare and ability to keep his cool.

The guard’s eyes flittered away, but he didn’t move. “I beg your pardon, Sir,” he said. “Your slave will have to wait outside.”

Serenity sighed deeply, as if he fought his impatience with the riff raff before him. “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s company policy, no slaves on the premises.” 

“Well, then…” Serenity turned and ushered Taven outside again. 

“Don’t leave me!” Taven hissed. “Don’t you fucking leave me!”

Serenity leaned over and whispered in his ear. “It’s all right, Taven. I’ll only be a minute. You’ll be fine. Stay here, don’t bother anyone, don’t go anywhere, and I’ll be right back. You _do_ want the studs, don’t you?” 

Taven nodded, he did, but…

Serenity straightened up again and patted his head. “That’s a good boy,” he said loudly. “Wait for your master! Stay!” he ordered, pointing at a spot near the wall to the side of the entry.

Taven glared. Oh, Serenity would _so_ regret that pat on his head, he’d fucking kick his ass for that, but, he obeyed. Without a word he went where Serenity pointed and lowered his gaze to his shoes. He might be fuming inside, but Serenity wasn’t breaking character, and, so, he couldn’t either. 

He leaned against the wall and tried to ignore the growing unease. Serenity was only a few yards away, there weren’t many people about, and he wasn’t at all abandoned, like the last time. That blond idiot would soon be back, he would have his studs, and then they could go home. 

Serenity sure took his time though. Taven started to become fidgety, shifting feet, looking about. What the fuck, was he buying the whole shop? Trying on sparkly women stuff, no doubt, lost in his pretty self before all those mirrors in there. Taven sneered at the image in his head, but finally gave in to his unease and walked over to the large display window. Trying to peek between the sparkling jewelry arrangements for his friend proved futile, he couldn’t see Serenity anywhere. 

Frowning with annoyance, he took a step back and accidentally bumped into someone behind him.

Startled, Taven meant to apologize and return to the spot where he’d been ordered to wait, but he never got the chance. A heavy arm snaked around his throat and jerked him close.

“Well, well, what _do_ we have here?” 

Taven froze in terror. He would know that voice anywhere. 

Swift grabbed his chin with his free hand and turned his head painfully far to the side. “Not a sound, whore,” he growled in his ear. “Not a sound, or I’ll snap your twiggy neck, understand?”

Taven understood, he understood very well, and a warm wetness spread throughout his crotch and trickled down his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note that in polite society it is considered inappropriate to strangle a writer.
> 
> /Fran


	73. Monster

Taven gave Swift no trouble when he led him through the mall and outside. 

He wanted to. Taven wanted to yell, scream, kick and wriggle, anything to direct anyone’s attention to the fact he was being stolen. He wanted to beg everyone they passed to help him, wanted to tell them what they saw, if they even turned their heads, wasn’t correct, that this wasn’t his master anymore, and to stop Swift.

Instead, he was petrified and simply followed without a sound, helpless in the harsh grip Swift kept of his neck and arm. Panic didn’t set in until Swift stopped by an old car, opened the trunk and pushed him against the dark space. That’s when he finally started to fight. 

It didn’t do him any good whatsoever.

Swift lifted him over the edge by his throat, completely ignoring his screams and kicks, easily countering his clawing hands, forcing him into the trunk. 

There was a witness, a woman, about to get into the car parked just one over from Swift’s. She stared at Taven’s desperate pleas for help, fear in her eyes, but opened her car door with fumbling hands and drove off. 

No one would help him, because no one cared. Even if they did, who would meddle with a free man handling someone who so obviously was a slave? Screams and tears were unfortunate, and quite unpleasant to witness, but it wasn’t their business. What could a small woman like that have done against a brute like Swift anyway? 

As useless at it was, Taven screamed and kicked until Swift finally managed to close the trunk over him, casting him in near complete darkness. 

The old car rattled and screeched as it drove away, Taven fighting not to panic in the icy cold, cramped and stinking space. He couldn’t see a thing, and was convinced there wasn’t enough air to make a sound, but his screams for help continued unabated in his mind, as unheard by the world as the audible ones.

\-----o0o-----

At first, Serenity was only annoyed Taven hadn’t stayed where he’d told him to. All right, he’d been a bit longer than he’d said he would, but there was just so much nice stuff to look at in the jewelry store, and he hadn’t stayed _that_ long. There was no reason for Taven to fuck with him and walk off. 

He looked up and down the gallery, but didn’t see Taven anywhere. The cranky little bugger must have gone back to one of the boutiques. Prepared to give Taven an earful, Serenity went back to the stores they’d already visited, and gave a quick look about. 

Nothing.

He started over at the first boutique again, searching them thoroughly this time, even knocking on the stall doors in the fitting rooms and calling out Taven’s name. He got a few angry replies, but none of them was from Taven. 

That’s when he started to be a little nervous. Where the hell was he? Serenity rejected the possibility Taven had gone into the boutiques he’d been warned about. Those would never have let him in, not on his own. Could he really have left the floor to check out the rest of the mall? Serenity didn’t think even Taven would be that foolish, but what other explanation was there? 

Serenity ran over to the closest flight of stairs and rushed one floor down, starting to look through those stores as well.

No Taven. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he feared he knew what had most likely happened, but he wasn’t prepared to admit to this likelihood yet. Surely, Taven had only walked off to teach him a lesson, stubborn little shit that he was, and then the boy had simply gotten lost. He’d find him soon enough, Serenity told himself, running to the next flight of stairs. Of course he would, and then he’d fucking give that stupid slave one upside his head for scaring him like this. 

He cursed silently to himself where he ran from one store to the next, searching floor after floor. Why the hell couldn’t Nickel have given Taven a simple mobile phone, like the one Constantine had given him, ages ago? If Taven was lost, he could have called him and told him to stay where he was until he got there. Who knew if Taven was running all over the place as frantically as he was, and they kept missing each other. 

Ever more scared, Serenity stubbornly held on to this conviction, or he thought he might have a panic attack. Taven was just lost among all the shops and the crowds, and he only had to search a little bit more, only a little while longer.

He searched for more than two hours. 

By then he was exhausted and had to sit down on a bench on the ground floor and catch his breath. He put his head in his hands and tugged at his hair, there was not a single trace of Taven anywhere; he was like swallowed up by the ground. What should he do? What on earth should he do? 

Oh God, what had he done? 

Terrified of giving in to despair, Serenity forced himself to his feet again. Pushing away all persistent thoughts of a raped and murdered Taven, he stepped in the path of a woman who happened to pass by. “Excuse me, Ma’am. I beg your pardon, but have you seen a- a…? I mean; my slave… A short teenager, with a very long braid, a redhead with… No, wait, Ma’am, please…”

The woman didn’t even slow down, she looked straight ahead, stepped around him, and hurried on her way.

Serenity didn’t have time to be frustrated with being ignored; he was already asking another person. This one seemed more sympathetic, but shook her head and claimed not to have seen anyone like that. She walked on, too. 

He kept asking people passing by, getting the same negative answer everywhere, until he spotted one of the uniformed security guards who always patrolled the mall coming around a corner some twenty yards, or so, away. Serenity turned and walked off, trying to be out of sight as quickly as possible. 

What was he doing? He had to be more careful. In his desperation, asking about Taven, he’d slipped back into slave manners, and to break character like that was much too dangerous. Attracting the attention of the guards would be fucking suicidal. They would have better resources to find Taven, by all means, but the most likely outcome would only be a one-way ticket to the nearest slave center, at least for Taven. Maybe _he_ would be able to talk them into contacting Constantine instead, who most likely would raise all hell to get him back, but he very much doubted Taven would be able to. Taven would freak out, and at a slave center, they’d kill someone like that on the spot. 

He didn’t even dare think the reason he couldn’t find Taven was because the mall security already had. 

Serenity hurried toward the main entry, he’d made it too risky to stay. One of those people he’d approached could be talking to a guard about him right now. He would really have wanted to keep searching, going over the stores just one more time, maybe he’d missed the very one where Taven was waiting, but, deep down, he knew it was futile. The only thing left to do now was to save himself.

The phone buzzed in his pocket while he searched for the car, but he didn’t even take it out. Constantine would have returned home by now, and he knew it was his master. 

Serenity got in the car and automatically threw the shopping bags in the back seat. It was so fucking stupid how he hadn’t even realized he’d held on to their purchases all this time. What did all that stuff matter now? Not a fucking shit. 

His phone buzzed again. Constantine would be wondering why he wasn’t answering, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even gather himself enough to start the car, but just sat there, at a complete loss at what to do, numb. Not until the phone stopped buzzing did he take it out and stared at it. 

Nickel’s number was on this phone, on speed dial, and had been ever since they’d started ‘dating’, all that time ago. He never could bring himself to delete it and for the last few months, trying to get back on Nickel’s good side, he’d been happy he never did, but now, he wished he had, after all. He really should call. Nickel had a right to know. Serenity’s thumb hovered over the phone, but he was shaking so badly it almost slipped out of his hand. He couldn’t do it. How could he face Nickel after this, even over the phone? No, he was simply too much of a fucking coward. 

Still shaking badly Serenity pressed the speed button to Constantine’s number instead.

Constantine must have been waiting with the phone in hand, he answered immediately. 

“Serenity!” 

The angry master voice, not furious, not yet. Not unusual, manageable... 

“_Where_ are you? How _dare_ you not answer when I call you?” 

This shouldn’t be hard. He was good at this, and did it all the time. Lying, making up plausible stories, charming his master, making the old man forgive him… 

He only managed a choked sound into the phone. 

“Serenity?” 

The worried master voice…

“Serenity? Are you there? Answer me, boy! What’s wrong? Has something happened? Serenity? Dear?”

Somehow, that broke the embankment. Serenity collapsed over the steering wheel and wept into the phone like he’d never wept before.

\-----o0o-----

Roth switched his phone off with a sinking feeling. Nickel had been very upset and hardly coherent, and his assurance he would come out to the mansion right away hadn’t calmed his boss down in the least. In spite of this promise, Roth remained, for only a few seconds, trying to gather, trying to think, before snapping out if it and rushing off. 

Taven was gone. Missing. How the hell could that have happened? 

Silas pattered behind him out into the hallway, handing him his gloves when he couldn’t find them, trying to put both his shoes and his coat on at the same time. The boy wasn’t talking, as usual, but it was obvious he understood something serious was going on. Roth didn’t want to explain to him, and was for once grateful for the little slave’s training. Silas wouldn’t ask. 

“Silas,” he said instead. “Don’t open the door to anyone but me or Miss Evelyn, you hear?” He had instructed Silas about this early on, and the boy was already fully aware answering the front door wasn’t part of his responsibilities. Roth didn’t know why he felt he needed to remind him. Silas never forgot orders and instructions.

The boy stared at him with huge frightened eyes. He nodded. 

Roth left; locking the door on Silas with fumbling fingers, and ran down the stairs, too much in a hurry to wait for the elevator.

\-----o0o-----

Taven had no idea how long they had been driving, but it seemed like forever. The freezing cold and the cramped space made him hurt all over, but he hardly dared voice a single moan for fear of using up the stinking near unbreathable air. 

It didn’t matter how hellish the ride was, Taven feared it ending a thousand times more. He was as good as dead as soon as they got back to Swift’s place. Yes, there was no doubt in Taven’s mind whatsoever Swift would kill him. It was only a question about how much the monster of his every nightmare would hurt him before he did, that was all. 

Taven would pee himself, if he hadn’t already.

He whimpered in terror when the car stopped and he heard a car door slamming shut, but the trunk wasn’t opened. He could hear Swift talking with someone in an angry, threatening voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. 

They drove off again. 

When the trunk was finally opened at the next stop, the fight had gone out of him. Coughing and gasping for air, he was too dazed to do anything when Swift grabbed his coat at his chest and forcefully pulled him out, slamming the trunk close, and dragging him inside a scuffed street door. 

“Don’t fuck with me, you little shit!” he warned when Taven came to that much he weakly tried to wriggle out of the grip, and then went as limp as he could instead, refusing to walk up the stairs to his own doom. 

Swift kept cursing at him and finally simply lifted him up the stairs with one arm around his waist. Unlocking the door with his free hand, he hurled Taven inside. 

Taven crashed against the wall in the hallway and collapsed to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. He’d forgotten how frightfully strong Swift was, as big and strong as Mr. Roth, but the kind bodyguard had never used his terrible strength against him. 

The monster would have no such scruples. 

Swift slammed the door shut, turned the latch to lock it, and stepped over him where he moaned on the floor, taking his coat off and hanging it. “Fuck! You piece of shit, you’re a lot heavier than you used to be, ain’t you? That lord of yours fattened you up good, eh. Don’t worry, we’ll slim you down again. I ain’t gonna waste as much as a crumb on you. I don’t need to keep you alive that long anyway.” 

Not until now did Taven realize he didn’t recognize the flooring under his nose, or anything else. This wasn’t the place where Swift had lived all those years he’d owned him. He’d moved somewhere else since he’d gotten rid of him. 

He looked up at the door. It didn’t matter where he was, Swift had turned his back on him, and he had to get away. Taven scrambled to his feet and lunged at it. Swift heard and turned back, grabbing him by the neck before he could reach the latch, but somehow he lost the grip at Taven’s frantic yelling and flailing as he tried to pull him farther inside, and Taven ran blindly in panic.

It didn’t do him any good. 

Taven ended up in a kitchen, which turned out to only have the one way in, and he was trapped. Swift was right on his heels and silenced his terrified screams with an open hand slap to the side of his head that sent him crashing to the floor. 

His whole skull reverberated as he lay sprawled face down, unable to move. Blood filled his mouth and he let it dribble over his lips, too dazed to spit or swallow. His teeth… Even through the pain and the ringing in his ear, he hoped he hadn’t lost any of his new teeth; Nickel had paid so much for them.

Swift grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and pulled him up on his knees. “Are we going to behave now? Yes?”

Taven nodded, still too dazed to get a word out, the slight movement sending shockwaves of pain through his whole head. 

Swift pulled him all the way up, Taven’s legs shaking so badly the harsh grip of his coat was all that made him stay on his feet. 

“Well, well, look at you. All dressed up like an actual human, but you ain’t one, are you, whore? 

Taven didn’t answer.

“Are you?” Swift roared; spit hitting him in the face.

He blinked and tried to clear his throbbing head enough to speak. “N- no, Master,” he managed.

“What are you?”

“A- a- a whore, Master, a- a f- filthy slave whore...” The wanted answer came back to him so easily he couldn’t understand how he’d ever forgotten. 

“Right,” Swift roared, shaking him so much his teeth rattled. “And fucking filthy piss stinking slave whores don’t wear fucking clothes, so get the fuck out of these clothes, you worthless piece of _shit_!”

He tried to obey, he really did, but he was so dizzy, his fingers so shaky and weak, they didn’t want to obey him, and he got no grip of the zipper of his coat. It only took seconds for Swift to lose patience with his pathetic fumbling, and start tearing at his clothes, brutally pulling and ripping every piece of fabric off his violently trembling body.

As soon as he was naked, Swift grabbed him by the neck and forced him face down on the floor again. The monster crouched down beside him, and the harsh grip was exchanged for an almost delicately gentle caress over his head. Taven was neither fooled, nor calmed by this. He knew what it was really about and it had nothing to do with any sort of kindness. 

“Damn, I’ve missed this,” Swift said, his hand running down the length of his silky thick braid. “I had to get rid of you, you know. You weren’t making me enough money anymore. You were starting to get so fucking old and disgusting you scared the customers off, but this…” The caress started from the top again. “Yeah, I regretted it as fuck, throwing you out _with_ this. So fucking stupid, I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I ain’t gonna do the same mistake again. This time I’ll think of a way to save your hair before I trash you.”

Taven shuddered. His skin crawled at the touch and he wanted to throw up, but he kept still and quiet. There would be much worse to come; he should save what little strength he had.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel was pale and dead silent beside him in the car as Roth drove them to the police station downtown, desperately trying to keep it together. Roth wanted to say something calming, assuring his boss it would be all right, but he just couldn’t tell such a blatant lie. 

He cursed inside, thinking back on what Nickel had told him when he’d arrived at the mansion, explaining how Lord Engel had called to let Nickel know Serenity had taken Taven to the mall, and lost him. How the hell could that blond _idiot_ have been so immensely stupid?

Nickel had been beside himself, and Roth had had to step in and take over. Imploring his boss to get a grip of himself, Roth had called the two slave centers in the city and asked for Taven. None of them had received such a slave to their facilities. Then he’d called a guy he knew who sometimes worked security in the mall, and had had him check in with the mall’s security head quarters. They didn’t have Taven either. 

He’d ordered up a car from the garage and carted Nickel outside, telling him the police would be their next step, and that they had to be fast about it. If they reported Taven stolen the police had to contact Nickel first, before shipping him off to a slave center, but if the police found him _before_ such a notice was put out there… All police officers weren’t as kind as the one who had brought Taven to his door.

However, it wasn’t the risk of the police picking up the boy that Roth feared the most. Taven had disappeared at the mall… Swift obviously often hung out at the mall.

Roth swallowed hard. He’d threatened Swift good, told him Nickel and he would make his life hell if he didn’t do what they wanted. Swift had believed him, so he must understand Nickel would _never_ stop stalking him if he hurt Taven now, right? Would Swift really think having his life ruined was worth the short-lived fun of torturing the boy? 

If Swift really _was_ behind this, then Roth desperately hoped he would think it wasn’t worth it.

\-----o0o-----

The gentle caress of his hair changed back to a harsh grip at his neck soon enough, and, again, he was roughly pulled to his feet. 

“Know what I lacked lately?” Swift said, grinning at him. “A real good boyfuck. Yeah, your scrawny ass ain’t exactly my first choice, but, you’ll have to do.”

He had known it. 

The second he understood Swift wasn’t going to kill him right away, but drag out the fun, Taven had known he would be fucked. Somehow, he’d imagined this wouldn’t be the worst part. He was used to it, after all. No big deal. There’d be pain, yeah, but it wouldn’t kill him. If he stayed still for it, it might even buy him some time. He was tighter these days, maybe Swift would like it so much he’d keep him alive for a few more days.

He could cope. 

However, when Swift started to take him out of the kitchen, Taven completely fell apart. He was weeping hysterically, Swift dragging him across the floor by his arms, his legs refusing to hold him. He _couldn’t_ cope, he couldn’t cope at all, and he wished Nickel had never showed him what a kind lover was. He would have been so much better off not knowing. 

His heartbroken sobbing had no effect, other than Swift being more annoyed with him. The monster cursed and kicked him in the ribs before forcing him face down across the armrest of a threadbare filthy couch. “Yeah, keep weeping you little shit, it only makes me harder,” Swift growled in his ear, fumbling with his pants, immobilizing him with his weight only. 

The physical pain when Swift pushed inside him was so bad he blacked out several times, but it was nothing compared to the mental pain. As he was torn inside and out, there was only one thought that managed to penetrate his own screaming and reach his brain – if he escaped all this alive, he would _kill_ himself before letting _anyone_ ever fuck him again.


	74. The Blind Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taven is still in deep, deep trouble... :-(
> 
> /Fran

They were told they had to wait a few minutes for an officer to take down their complaint. 

Roth sat Nickel down at a bench along the wall and told him he would try to find Chief Inspector Simon in the meantime. He knew, in ‘police speak’, ‘a few minutes’ usually meant ‘fifteen minutes at least’ – for a lord, maybe half an hour – he would have plenty of time to talk to Simon. He was worried about leaving Nickel alone, but his boss still seemed overwhelmed by the whole thing and simply nodded obediently to everything Roth told him.

\-----o0o-----

Taven squeezed his eyes shut against a sharp flash in his face.

“Look what I found!” Swift kicked at his thigh, demanding his attention. “An old instant camera... I mean, look at this shit! It’s fucking ancient. Man, I’m gonna have fun with this.” He ripped the photo paper out of the camera and shook it, grinning at his victim. 

Swift held the photo in front his eyes, making sure Taven looked at the emerging image. A pale face stared back at him in shock, blood from a split and swollen lip drying on its chin and traces of tears on its freckled cheeks.

After taking his time fucking him good and hard, he’d dragged Taven into the bathroom, forced him down on his back, and cuffed his hands over his head to an exposed pipe. It was as if nothing had changed, as if he’d never left. It was a different bathroom, but the same handcuffs cutting into his wrists, and the same coldness from the hard tiles under his bruised, scratched back and stinging ass. 

Taven tried to swallow through a parched mouth and throat sore from screaming. Less than a year with a kind master was all he would get then. 

Maybe it hadn’t even been real. Right now, Taven found it hard to think of his time at the Wren Mansion as anything other than a dream. Such a life was very unlikely, after all. Things like that simply didn’t happen to someone like him, whereas _this_ was a real life; the kind that happened all the time, to thousands like him. 

No, it wasn’t true. It hadn’t been a dream. That life had been real. _Nickel_ was real, and his master would miss him. Did he know? Nickel must know by now he was gone. It would make him worry, and he’d be angry, too. His master would be angry as fuck that someone had taken him.

Swift grabbed his ankles and turned him over on his stomach, clawing at his ass cheeks so he could take a photo of his torn asshole and blood-smeared thighs. “Fucking awesome,” he said, and there was no mistaking the glee in his voice. “I mean, you won’t last long, but I’ll have some pretty pictures to pin up and jerk off to.”

Somehow, that made Taven angry. He didn’t belong to Swift anymore, and the fucking bastard didn’t have the right to do this. “He- he’s gonna find me,” he piped up. As terrified as he was, he couldn’t stop himself. “Master’s gonna find me, and he’s gonna be so fucking pissed off that you…”

Swift grabbed at his hips and brutally turned him on his back again. 

Taven squeezed his eyes shut once more, his whole body tensing up in fear of the blows he was sure would come, but Swift only laughed. 

“Is that so, eh? Your precious lord’s gonna be angry and come kick my ass; that’s what you’re saying? Yeah, you’d believe that, wouldn’t you, you stupid fuck. Ain’t no one gonna come for you, whore, he’s tired of you, don’t you get that. He paid me to get rid of you, didn’t wanna dirty his dainty lord hands.”

Taven gasped, every word felt like a stab to his heart. “That- that ain’t true,” he managed. “He- he’ll come for me.”

“Yeah? Why ain’t he then? Why ain’t he outside right now, banging on the fucking door? It’s been hours.” 

Taven’s head swam; he could hardly form the words. “He… He doesn’t know where I am.”

Swift’s delighted cackle bounced against the bare, tiled walls. “He doesn’t? Fuck, you’re such a retard. Always were unusually stupid, weren’t you? Even for a slave. Of course he knows where you are. His bodyguard was here, wasn’t he? Fucking stole my boy. Believe me, they know where you are.” 

He went cold all over. What Swift said was true. Mr. Roth had stolen Silas, so he knew where Swift lived, which meant Nickel knew, too. His master _knew_, and he didn’t care. 

Taven wanted to die.

\-----o0o-----

After a long torturous wait, Nickel finally got to talk to an officer, being offered a seat at her desk. She asked him questions and wrote down the information he had. Nickel nearly started to sob right in front of her when she asked what the boy looked like and he described Taven’s small stature, long hair and freckled face, trying to remember what he’d worn when Serenity had picked him up.

The officer seemed to ignore his teary-eyed state and dispassionately kept taking notes, out of politeness or disinterest, Nickel didn’t know. 

“Well then, Sir, I think I have it all,” she said with a serviceable smile. “We’ll put out a notice of the loss of your property. If we hear something, we’ll call.” 

She kept smiling at him as if she expected him to simply get up now, shake her hand and leave. Was that all?

“Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked, confused. He hadn’t known what to expect, and couldn’t get the wits about him to suggest something himself, but she was the police here, wouldn’t she know something you could actually do? For goodness sake, someone he cared about was missing, and she acted as if he was reporting the theft of a bicycle.

“Well, as I mentioned we’re going to put out a notice and our officers will keep a lookout, but there’s not really…”

Nickel slowly became aware of someone else speaking behind him.

“…limited resources, you know…”

He turned his head, and spotted another officer who obviously had been listening in on their conversation and felt a need to butt in. “Excuse me?"

“I said, we have _limited resources_,” the officer repeated. “We work our asses off around the clock, protecting decent folks from the dreg. Do you have any idea how many _real_ kids there are out there who need our help? We have neither the time nor the resources, and then some spoiled lord waltzes in here and wants us to drop everything and run all over the city looking for his fucking lost toy?”

Nickel stared at the man. Real kids? Taven wasn’t a… real kid? 

He completely lost it and was only vaguely aware of the uniformed police officer in front of him backing away in shock as he went for him, the chair he’d just thrown himself out of crashing to the floor. 

Nickel never reached the bastard. Someone’s arm encircled his waist, he was lifted off his feet, and only seconds later, he was somehow through the door, and on the steps outside of the police station.

“For fuck’s sake, Roth,” he yelled. “Let go of me!”

Roth obeyed at once, raising his hands in a peace-offering gesture, backing away.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Nickel repeated, red in the face from the indignity of Roth hauling him outside like an unruly child. 

“Sorry, boss,” Roth tried. “But, are you fucking crazy? Do you really want to be arrested right now for assaulting an officer? Who’s going to look for Taven if you’re locked up?”

Nickel still fumed. Roth was right, of course, he always was, but he wasn’t yet prepared to admit to it. “He said…”

“I heard what he said,” Roth cut in, interrupting his indignant attempt to defend himself. “And it was a shitty thing to say, I agree, but he was still right. They _don’t_ have the resources to actively deal with things like this. We needed to report it, but we’re going to have to do the actual work ourselves. Nickel, I talked to Simon, and… You once told me you didn’t want me to shield you from things?”

Nickel found himself swaying on his feet. “I- I… It’s Swift, isn’t it? He’s taken Taven, hasn’t he?”

“At the moment, we really can’t tell for sure, Nickel, but I want you to know that _if_ Swift is behind this… His aunt was murdered.”

“What? The woman who ran his…? Where? How?”

“In prison, she got stabbed by another inmate. They don’t know why, it’s under investigation, and… Well, but the point is, she’s dead, and apparently it isn’t the only thing going wrong for Swift lately. He stopped paying rent a few months ago, and was finally evicted. Simon knew about it because he threatened the Landlord, and they called the police, though they never pressed charges. There’s been no known address since, and it’s likely he’s simply homeless at this point.”

Nickel frowned, not understanding why Roth was telling him all this. Did his bodyguard seriously mean for him to feel sorry for the bastard?”

“Think, Nickel,” Roth replied to his confounded expression. “Losing both the drug business _and_ Silas at the same time, his personal finances collapsed. The little money you gave him for breaking his nose can’t have lasted long. He lost his home, and then he lost the only person in the world who probably actually cared about him. Who do you think he will blame for all this?” Roth demonstratively pointed at the both of them in turn. 

Nickel felt cold all over, a lump forming in the pit of his stomach. “He- he wouldn’t dare. You told him we would ruin his life if…”

“It looks like his life is already ruined, Nickel. If he has Taven, those threats will no longer hold him back. On the contrary, he’ll most likely hurt the boy as bad as he can, only to get back at us.”

Fear cramping his heart, Nickel turned away from Roth, and looked out over the city from the high vantage point of the steps. There were literally thousands of places where Taven could be held, and no matter how horrible the thought was; he couldn’t deny to himself that there was probably no chance at all they would find the boy before Swift tortured him to death.

He sank down on the stairs, put his head between his knees, and started to weep in sheer hopeless despair.

\-----o0o-----

He hurt. He hurt so much, he was so cold, and he was so fucking scared.

Taven shivered uncontrollably where he laid weeping on the floor. He was bruised all over, and his asshole was burning and itching. His head was throbbing and every breath tormented him. He would be surprised if he had a single intact rib. Taven wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’d forgotten how horrible it was to hurt so much and to be so cold, with no hope it would ever end. 

He’d gotten a very harsh reminder.

If only he’d had the decency and the brains to better appreciate what he had, while he still had it. 

When he’d first been brought to the Wren Mansion, he’d hardly believed the luxury. The front he’d put on had been just that, a front. In reality, Taven had been awestruck at how utterly heavenly it had been to stay there. It had been like a dream, to not be beaten, chained and fucked every day, to have a space of his own, and be left in peace. The food, the warm water, the bed, all of it, had been unreal. 

He’d still behaved like an asshole, but it wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated it; it had only been so very hard to believe it would last, that it wasn’t some kind of trap. 

Then look at how fast he’d gotten used to it. How fast he’d forgotten things and taken it all for granted. His tears streamed as he thought of his room. Lately, had he even once thought about how lucky he was to sleep in a bed every night? If only he could go back, he’d never take anything for granted again. He’d thank his master on his knees, every day.

However, he couldn’t go back, and this strange reprieve meant nothing.

He didn’t know why, but Swift had left him in the bathroom and hadn’t returned. The monster clearly enjoyed crushing all hope of someone rescuing him, but hadn’t followed up with the expected torture. Taven wasn’t calmed in the least. It was only temporary, of that, he was sure, and Swift wasn’t far away. The bathroom door was open and Taven heard him opening a beer can out in the living room and switching on the TV. Judging from the sound of battle cries and guns firing, he was watching some old movie, and was having a good time of it. Swift kept laughing and chuckling to himself between beer belches and wafts of cigarette smoke.

Taven was terrified. Swift in a good mood was always as dangerous as Swift in a bad mood, and the monster only wanted to get as much as he could out of this, dragging out the fun.

He stared at the ceiling, shivering and hurting with every breath, the tears never ending. Waiting for torture was torture in itself, and only sheer exhaustion could make him close his eyes tonight.

\-----o0o-----

It was close to three in the morning when Nickel drove up the avenue, having dropped Roth off at his place. He was so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open to drive, but he knew, when he'd lay down, he still wouldn’t be able to sleep, haunted as he was by the images in his head.

They had searched all night.

Roth had insisted they couldn’t know for sure what had happened to Taven, but there was no doubt as to who his bodyguard thought was behind the disappearance. From the moment they’d left the police station, his trusted friend had organized the search with only Swift in mind. He’d claimed they didn’t have time to research any other possibilities than the most likely one. 

He had further suggested their best chance was to drive all over the South End and ask for information. Swift might hang out at the mall a lot, but for this, he would return to his own home turf, where he had the biggest chance of finding a place where he could operate undisturbed. 

It wouldn’t be hard to find people down there who knew Swift, Roth had claimed, and one of them might know his present whereabouts, if offered some monetary compensation. Swift might know many people, but it was doubtful he’d ever made an actual friend. They’d sell him out for pennies, especially if he was already down on his luck, and less likely to come after them.

They had driven about the South End for hours, creeping slowly down the streets, looking about; knocking on doors, searching through hideouts for homeless people, talking to anybody they could get hold of…

Nothing.

Just like Roth had predicted, they’d met quite a few people knowing, or knowing of, Swift, but they all claimed they hadn’t seen him for some time, and had no idea what he was up to these days. 

Every negative answer had spurred Nickel on, ever more desperately hopping in and out of the car, catching up to people in the street, repeating the same questions over and over. Roth had forced him to take breaks to eat, and finally to drive home for a few hours of sleep, promising they would go at it again first thing in the morning. 

Nickel wouldn’t have stopped on his own. 

He parked in front the house but remained in the car. It felt hopeless. For all they knew, Taven could already be dead and they would never even find his body. He would just be gone, as if he had never existed in the first place. Nickel wouldn’t have anything to bury, and didn’t even have a photo to remember his concubine by. 

Why had he never thought of taking photos?

He was gradually aware someone was standing outside the car, a lanky stooped shadow patiently waiting for him to get out. Nickel wiped off the condensation on the window with his gloved hand. Jonas? 

Nickel opened the car door. The young garage slave bowed to him, looking weary, shaking from the cold, holding his long arms about him, but didn’t run up to take the car as expected of him. Instead, he just stood there, giving him flittering and nervous glances. 

He stared back. What did Jonas know? He hadn’t told any of the house slaves what had happened, but they would still realize something was going on. At the very least, they must have noticed Taven had gone away and not come back. Did they understand Taven was missing, or did they think Nickel had gotten rid of him? Had they gossiped to the workers about their suspicions and speculations? 

Jonas obviously feared something was wrong, and it was clear he fought with himself, scared to anger his master by being nosy and talk out of turn, but desperately wanting to know. Nickel realized with a start Jonas would care about Taven too, and would maybe be as tortured with worry, as haunted by inner images of what might have happened. 

Nickel swallowed hard. In spite of understanding this, he couldn’t bring himself to talk to the garage slave. He’d completely fall apart if he tried, as he’d done on the stairs outside the police station. 

Without a word, Nickel turned his back on Jonas, walking inside, leaving the boy behind in the snow to take the car away.

\-----o0o-----

Roth almost cried in the elevator up to his apartment. They’d found nothing, he felt like he had failed both Nickel and Taven, and he was racked with guilt.

He remembered the talk with Swift all too well. Roth hadn’t tried to hide how much Taven meant to Nickel. He’d made a point of it even, to convince Swift of how ‘crazy’ his boss was. It had worked for their purpose at the time, but Roth had completely failed to consider how dangerous that information would be for Taven, if Swift ever got his hands on him again. 

Roth tried to tell himself he couldn’t have anticipated such a development, and that they couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure Swift really had Taven in any case, but it didn’t make him feel better. He was convinced Swift _was_ behind this, and if he was only partly to blame, how could he ever forgive himself? 

Silas was awake when he came inside, meeting him inside the door. It was a clear breach of the ‘no later than eleven’-rule and the boy looked fearful and ashamed enough. It was the farthest from Roth’s mind to scold him for waiting up, though. He forced a smile, ruffling Silas’ hair, as he usually did, and walked into the living room, telling the boy in passing to make them their usual coffee and hot cocoa.

The boy might not be fooled by his strenuous smile, but he would still understand he wasn’t in trouble at the ‘order’ of this shared ritual of theirs, however strange the time of day. 

Silas followed ‘the ritual’ to the letter, placed the tray on the coffee table and stepped aside with his gaze lowered, waiting for Roth’s permission to sit down beside him with his cocoa, but he never put the steaming cup to his lips.

“Master?” he said instead, staring down into the cup held in his lap, his shaking hands betraying how much it cost him to dare speak up. “Has… Has something happened to Taven?”

Roth turned to him in surprise. At any other time he’d be happy and hopeful at Silas’ dare, but as it was, he was simply too miserable to acknowledge it. 

How did the boy know? Had he let slip something, after all? Maybe when Nickel had first called? Damn it; what on earth should he tell the boy? He looked down into his own lap, determinately resisting all temptations of lying. Nothing but the truth would be worthy of the little slave’s courage, and concerns. 

“Serenity took the car into the city without permission,” he explained, swallowing hard. “He brought Taven with him to the mall, and… Taven disappeared. They were separated for a short moment, and Serenity never saw what happened. Taven was just… gone. Your master and I have been searching for him all night, but…” Roth’s voice almost cracked. “We can’t find him.”

Silas’ hands shook still, creating ripples in his cup. “Master Swift,” he said. “Master Swift took Taven.”

Roth startled. Silas understood much too much. “We don’t know that for sure, Silas,” he tried. 

Silas didn’t seem to have heard him. “He’s dead,” he said, so softly Roth almost didn’t catch it.

For the life of him, he couldn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	75. Reasons to Survive

Roth stumbled through the apartment in his underwear at the insistent sound of the doorbell, answering it still half asleep, trying to focus his bleary eyes.

It was Nickel. 

“It’s _six_ in the morning,” he said. “Have you slept at all?”

Nickel only gave him a pleading look and stepped past him into his hallway.

“All right,” Roth said. “Just let me put some clothes on and grab a bite to eat, and we’ll go out there again.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven was brutally startled out of an exhausted daze by another sharp flash and a kick to his ribs that made him gasp for breath.

“You fucking disgusting piece of trash,” Swift yelled, kicking him again. “I ain’t even gonna hose you off. You can stay in your own piss. I’m gonna have to clean this bathroom good when I’m done with you anyway.”

He shook the photo in his hand until it cleared and then, again, held it in front of Taven’s eyes, forcing him to look. Taven hadn’t realized he’d peed himself again. Swift was right. He _was_ disgusting. 

Not that he didn’t know that already. 

He put the camera down on the toilet seat and grabbed something else instead, holding it up in front of Taven’s nose. Taven couldn’t help it, he whimpered like a small child, his breath hitching in his throat, and his hands weakly tugging at the handcuffs, the chain rattling against the pipe.

Swift grinned in satisfaction. “I see you remember this little thing just fine.” He rolled the scalpel between his thumb and index finger, the thin blade catching the overhead light in a faint glimmer.

Taven wept. 

Swift grabbed his chin and made a quick slice across his cheekbone. It was so fast there wasn’t even pain, but when he literally felt the skin open up, Taven screamed anyway. His cheek started to sting and throb, warm blood trickling down his face. 

The monster chuckled, his eyes shining. “Oh yes,” he said. “Ain’t that pretty? Always wanted to cut your fucking face up, but no could do while I whored you out. Now, on the other hand… Yeah, we don’t have to care about that anymore, do we? I can just cut you any way I want to now.”

Taven could do nothing but weep.

“You know what I wanna do?” Swift continued, licking his lips, as if he fed off Taven’s fear. “I wanna mess up your face so bad. Bash your fucking nose in; like that faggot lord of yours did mine. Yeah, I’ll do that first, and then I’m gonna cut little pieces off you. Slice your ears off, maybe gouge an eye out... Only the one, mind you, wouldn’t want you to miss anything, after all. Don’t worry, though, no matter how much I want to, I ain’t gonna do _too_ much to your face. Know why? ‘Cause when I’m done with you, I’ll cut your whole fucking head off, and I’ll put it in a box and mail it to your precious lord. I wanna make real sure he knows it’s you.” 

Swift was virtually cackling now. “Fuck, I wish I could be there to see the look on his face when he opens that box.” 

Taven was so scared he nearly threw up. “P- please…” he managed, though he had no idea why he would even try pleading for mercy. He was talking to someone who didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll be impatient to get going,” Swift said, cackling on, apparently finding himself very funny. “You gotta have some patience, whore. If I’m gonna make the best of this, I’ll need some stuff first.” 

Swift got back up on his feet and looked down on him with an appraising look. “Yeah, I’ll need a few tools, and shit. I’m gonna need lots of garbage bags, and some duct tape. Oh, and bleach, I’ll definitely need a bottle of that. I’m gonna get a real good pair of pliers so I can pull your teeth. Don’t wanna risk my cock fucking your ugly ass face. Gonna try to find a soldering iron, too. Yeah, you thought you were gonna get away with having that tattoo removed? Think again, retard. This time I gonna _burn_ it in, good, long and deep. I’ll need some better knives, as well, and maybe a hacksaw. This blade is too flimsy. Gonna slice some stuff off and send them along with your head. I’m sure your lord is missing your puny cock and balls terribly. I’ll send along your remaining nipple, too, and the brand, just as a bonus. That fucking shithead deserves it, after all. Yeah, that’ll be great. I’ve never flayed anything before. Fuck, that’s gonna be so much fun. I can’t wait.”

Taven sobbed louder at every word. Swift meant it. There was no doubt in his mind Swift meant every word. How could he go through such torture without going mad? He was just a weak little shit, he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. 

In a cruel parody of something that might look like an attempt to console, to anyone stupid enough not to know better, Swift stopped talking and once again crouched down on the floor beside him, caressing his hair affectionately.

“I saw this film last night,” he resumed, letting Taven’s braid repeatedly slip between his fingers. “So, now I finally know what to do with your hair. “Just cutting it off ain’t good enough; it might come apart and shit. Gonna have to get it all in one nice piece, so, I’m gonna scalp you. Know what that means? No, you’re too stupid, ain’t you? It means flaying off the skin on your head, with all the hair still on it. Get it?” Swift cackled. “What a fucking awesome souvenir.” 

Swift got back on his feet and reached for the camera. “I don’t think it’s gonna kill you, so as soon as I get back with all the stuff, that’s what I’m gonna do first. We’re gonna make a mess, after all. There’ll be blood everywhere, and you’re gonna shit yourself and puke on things, filthy little pig that you are. We gotta keep that braid nice and clean, you know.”

He crouched down again, grabbed Taven’s chin to keep him still and took a close up of the gash in his face, the blood mixed with his tears. “Yeah, we’ll have a real nice time, just you and me.”

Swift gathered the camera and the scalpel and stepped up to the bathroom door, but he turned back on the threshold with a wide grin. “Don’t cry, sweetie, I’ll be back before you know it.”

\-----o0o-----

Taven knew something he was sure Swift didn’t. 

The pipe above his head ran along the baseboard and disappeared out of sight under the bathtub. It was impossible to see standing up, or even crouching down, but lying flat on your back, you could turn your head to peek under the bathtub, and get a good look at where the pipe went. Then you’d also spot the interesting fact the pipe he was cuffed to, was close to breaking off. 

Yes, the pipe took a ninety degree turn in the corner, and there, closest to the L-shaped joint, it was about to come loose, leaking profusely in the process. Taven didn’t find it strange Swift hadn’t discovered the leak. The bathroom floor drain was situated right underneath the tub, and the leaking water ran neatly down the drain, none of it seeping out across the floor where it could be seen. In these old, dilapidated apartment buildings, there was always a lot of noise in the bathrooms, too. Between the air vent in the ceiling and the leaking toilet, the steady trickling sound under the bathtub would hardly have drawn his attention. 

Swift must be unaware of this, or there was no way he would have cuffed him to this particular pipe.

Taven had already tested it by jerking hard, feeling the pipe give somewhat. He was reasonably sure, with some effort, it could come loose, and then he could bend it out from under the tub, far enough to be able to slip the chain between the cuffs off. 

So, why didn’t he? Why was he just lying here, doing nothing? What was he waiting for? 

The tears started anew, running hot over his throbbing cheek. Why would he escape, when his master didn’t want him back? Where could he go if he was no longer welcome at the mansion? 

Oh, of course he’d told himself countless times already Swift had been lying when he claimed Nickel was tired of him, and had paid a South End thug to get rid of his worthless slave. Taven did understand there were many things that didn’t make sense with such a scenario. 

First, his master wasn’t that kind of guy. Nickel would never have given him back to Swift, even if he had tired of him. His master had always been so good to him, and had made him his concubine. Nickel cared about all his slaves, and was never cruel to anybody. 

No way would he do this.

How could Taven believe his master had planned this together with Swift? A man he clearly hated. Nickel didn’t know Taven would go to the mall in any case, so how could Swift have known the time and place to snatch him? That would require Serenity being in on the plan as well, and that simply strained credulity a bit too far. Taven just couldn’t believe that. 

Besides, if Swift was telling the truth, why had he gone on about wanting to hurt Nickel by sending his slave’s body parts in the mail? Wouldn’t those threats mean Swift knew his master still cared? 

Yes, the whole thing just sounded completely crazy, and still… Voices of doubt constantly crept into his mind, and here, back in the monster’s claws, where his utter worthlessness was not in question, it was so very hard not to listen to them.

Taven didn’t want to believe his master was cruel, but he _was_ stricter with the other slaves, and if Jonas was correct, he’d let a plumber fuck a twelve year old girl. He’d been shitty to Serenity, too, dismissing him at the first mistake, and never even letting him explain what had happened. 

Was it really so strange, too, to think Swift would be right about his master finally tiring of him? It was a miracle, after all, that he hadn’t long ago, and maybe Taven had survived the arrival of Silas, but now his master would _marry_. It must mean his luck was over. 

Overwhelmed with doubt, the fact he was a concubine was no comfort. On the contrary, it seemed obvious his master must regret rising him up in such a way, and now Nickel was stuck with it for life. Even if Taven was dismissed from his service, the contract meant he couldn’t be sold out of the estate. Taven would stick around forever, impossible to get rid of, constantly reminding his master what a mistake he’d made.

However, if Taven was conveniently ‘kidnapped’… Yes, Nickel couldn’t help it, could he, if someone ‘stole’ his concubine and killed him? How _unfortunate_. 

Maybe it wasn’t so inconceivable, either; Serenity would be in on it. Serenity was still in love with Nickel, after all, he’d admitted so himself. Why wouldn’t he want to get rid of his rival? 

The hurt at these thoughts was almost too much for Taven to bear. Why wouldn’t he simply wait for Swift to end it all? What reason did he have to want to live on? It would be a few hours of horror, yes, but then it would be over. Forever. No more hurt.

If Nickel had been the only person to consider, Taven would have obediently stayed put, but the man wasn’t, was he? No, regardless of how Taven hurt and wanted to die, inside his head other people, too, demanded his attention, and it proved hard to ignore them. 

What if he was wrong in his doubts and there was a perfectly natural explanation to why his master wasn’t coming for him? Then would Silas be next? Taven wept when he thought of the little slave cut up and murdered, his hair flayed off into another souvenir for Swift to jerk off to. He couldn’t stay here; he had to try to escape so he could warn Mr. Roth. Mr. Roth had always had his misgivings about _him_, but he liked Silas, didn’t he? In fact, Taven was sure the bodyguard was delighted with Silas, and would want to know if he was in danger.

Ada? She liked him, he was almost sure she liked him. Would Ada cry if he didn’t come back? He didn’t want her to cry.

Jonas.

At the thought of Jonas, Taven broke down sobbing hard. Jonas would miss him. Jonas would grieve for him, but who the fuck would care about how a simple worker felt? No one. It wasn’t right. They were friends, more than friends, and they would never see each other again?

No. Taven couldn’t accept this. If there was even the remotest chance his master wanted him back, then he owed it to them all to do what he could to save himself. 

To at least _try_ to survive.

Taven closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to gather his last reserves of strength; then he grabbed the pipe with both his hands and gave it a hard pull. It didn’t break off. He pulled again, and again, soon screaming in utter desperation, jerking and pulling with all his might, his battered naked body sliding around on floor tiles wet with his own urine…

The pipe broke.

Taven was shaking so badly with the exertion he was only barely able to get up on his knees to start pulling at the pipe once again, this time to bend it out from under the tub. This proved harder than he’d thought, but he finally managed to slip the short chain off the broken end. He got to his feet on violently shaking legs and fled out of the bathroom. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he did understand running outside in this condition was crazy. He was weakened from Swift’s brutal kicks and blows, his bleeding asshole, lack of sleep, and pulling at the pipe, as well as not having either eaten or had a drop of water since the day before, not to mention, it was winter outside, and he was naked and wet. Remaining to rest and eat would be too risky, but he should at least have caught his breath for a few seconds, have some water, and find his clothes. 

However, fear snapped at his heels, and blocked out any further rational thinking. Swift could come through the door at any moment, and all he could think of was to get away as fast as it was humanly possible. Weak and dizzy, Taven stumbled through the hallway in sheer panic and clawed at the latch of the front door, so out of it he didn’t even know how his cuffed and trembling hands managed to turn it. Finally, he flung the door open and dashed down the stairs. 

He lost his balance half way down.

Taven might have missed a step, or maybe his feet were slippery with piss, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, the effect was the same. The last steps were taken in a violent tumble of thin and uselessly flailing limbs, and unable to catch himself properly with his cuffed hands, he landed hard on the flagstones at the bottom of the stairs. 

He blacked out.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel slumped down in the passenger seat, holding his sandwich without eating it. 

Roth had again forced his boss to rest and had bought them lunch, but he didn’t have the heart to force Nickel to eat. He didn’t have much of an appetite himself, though he still nibbled absentmindedly at his sandwich.

This wasn’t working, and he was losing hope. They would never find Taven in time, and Roth had no plan B. How long could they do this before they had to admit it was too late? He looked at Nickel, not eating his sandwich; he sure as hell didn’t want to be the one telling his boss it was time to call it off. He guessed, useless as it was, he would keep at it until Nickel was ready to admit it himself. 

That was all he could do for his friend now.

\-----o0o-----

Taven thought he might only have been out for a short moment when he came to, or he’d been colder, but he sorely wished he hadn’t woken up at all, as no will to live or panicked fear could make him go on now. He only had to try to get up once to know something was very wrong. His left leg refused to obey him, and the slightest movement hurt his hip so bad he nearly blacked out again. Taven’s right hand was equally hurting and when he slowly lifted it in front his eyes he wanted to puke at the unnatural angle of his wrist, the bones nearly poking through the skin. He gave up and put his pounding forehead to the cool flagstones, trying not to move at all. 

The street door was only a yard or two away, but it might as well be a mile, he had no strength to even stand up, much less go outside. His attempt at escape had failed, and he could do nothing else than stay where he was, until Swift came back and dragged him up the stairs again. 

He was almost too exhausted to care. 

It only took a few minutes, and the street door opened, bringing with it an ice-cold rush of winter air sweeping over his shivering body. He’d known what to expect, but still whimpered in terror and regret. 

He’d been so close. 

Someone walked across the flagstones, the feet making a soft pitter patter sound. Taven sobbed in relief. Those small cautious steps couldn’t possibly belong to Swift. With some effort, he turned his head and saw a pair of tiny feet in old-fashioned shoes, beige crumpled stockings bunched around swollen ankles. It was an old woman. Shaking violently he reached out his cuffed hands to her and tried to beg for help, but his mouth was too dry and he couldn’t get a word out. 

The old woman gasped, hopped out of his reach and paced before him, but finally took a wide step right over his broken body. She climbed the stairs as fast as her old legs could carry her, he heard an apartment door slamming shut, and the stairs were silent once again.

Taven’s hands sank to the floor. He’d scared her. She wouldn’t help. No one would.

\-----o0o-----

The next time the street door opened, Taven didn’t react. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, but the pain, the cold and his rapidly dying hope had weakened him considerably. 

He was still conscious, but that was about it. 

Two pair of men’s shoes came into his view, their bodies shielding out the light overhead as they leaned over him. It wasn’t Swift this time either, but it didn’t matter. 

“Yep,” one of them said. “Here it is, just like the old bat said, ‘dead, naked slave in the stairs’.” The man sighed. “Damn it, this isn’t even the first time this week. What are we, the fucking waste management? Fuck, what is that smell? Piss?”

The other man crouched down beside him and reached out a gloved hand. The arm had a black sleeve and shiny brass buttons. The police? The old woman must have called the police. 

“Only,” the crouching man said, “this one isn’t dead.”

“Fuck, are you sure?”

“Yeah, he’s looking straight at me. He’s alive, all right. Hey, boy, can you hear me?” The police officer put the hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 

Taven wanted to answer, but he was so weak, he only managed a faint whimper.

“Shit!” the first man swore. “So he is. Well, by the looks of him, he won’t last long anyway. Come on, give me a hand, and we’ll put him in the back. I think we still have some plastic covering in the trunk. If he’s still alive when we get to the slave center, they’ll take care of it, in a… humane way.” 

He followed this up with leaning over and grabbing at Taven’s arm, but the still crouching man slapped his hand away. 

“For fuck’s sake, Greg, he can hear you, you know.” He turned to Taven again, still holding a hand on his shoulder. “Hang in there, boy! We’ll try to help you, okay?”

“Shit,” the other man swore again. “Don’t do this to me just before lunch.”

“Greg, you’re a fucking callous bastard.”

The man named Greg only sighed. “Look, I know you’re new and all, and, yeah, I agree, okay? This is horrible; _people_ are horrible, but for goodness sake, look at him! He won’t make it anyway. Taking him to the center _is_ an act of mercy. You’d rather leave him to whoever did this? Yeah, you call me names all that you want, but believe me, when you’ve worked these streets for a few years, you’ll do the same.”

“But… what the fuck… That’s… It’s just a kid.”

A tiny flicker of hope flared up in Taven’s chest. That police officer, he wanted to help him, argued with his workmate about it. Taven remembered another police officer who had helped him, too. They weren’t all bad, he’d seen that himself. It almost took all he got, but he managed to weakly pull at the man’s sleeve with his good hand, and stare imploringly at him, trying to speak. 

He got to his feet and turned to his colleague. “Didn’t you buy a bottle of mineral water earlier? Got some left?”

The man – Greg – sighed again, but didn’t protest; he put his hand inside his coat and fished out a half-full plastic bottle. The other man took it and crouched down beside Taven again, carefully lifting his head up while he put the bottle to his lips. Most of it ran along his chin, but he got enough of it down his throat to manage a faint whisper. The police officer leaned down closer and listened. 

“What’s he saying?” 

“Uh, he claims he really belongs to a lord. Says he’s the personal slave of a clan lord named ‘Nickel Wren’, nickel, as in the metal. He’s says he’s been stolen, and if we only call his master, he’ll give us a big reward. Apparently, he’s very rich.”

Greg gave up a short snorting laugh. “Wow, a clan lord’s favorite, no less. You don’t actually believe that, do you? He’s scared, John, he’ll say anything. Look at him; most of those marks are old, look at that tattoo. Does this look like a lord’s personal slave to you? Come on! I want to go to lunch, preferably sometime today, I’m starving here. We don’t have time for this. Let’s just take him to the center.” 

The man called John ignored his colleague while he emptied the pockets of his coat, before taking it off and carefully covering Taven up. 

“I don’t know, Greg,” he said, trying to tuck the coat underneath him to protect him from the chilly flagstones. “I mean, I don’t think he’s lying. Who the hell is named ‘Nickel’? Why would he make up such a weird name if it weren’t true? It can’t be that difficult to check up, it’s a few minutes, at the most. Give him a chance.” 

Taven closed his eyes, trying to get some warmth out of the coat. It was his life they were arguing over but he had no strength left to try to plead his case further.

“God damnit!” Greg sighed deeply. “All right then, a late lunch it is. Check his ear, and we’ll see if we can get an owner.” 

John gently turned Taven’s head both ways, pushing at his hair. “Huh? He doesn’t have a tag.”

“Seriously?” Greg crouched down as well, and repeated John’s check up. “…and right you are. No fucking slave tag. What the hell! Look, John, let’s just take him to the center, all right? He’s too far gone, and we have more important things to do than to research a half-dead slave.”

John scowled at his colleague. “I only asked for a measly few minutes. Don’t you think it’s even more suspicious the tag’s been removed? I’d say that’s evidence the kid _has_ been stolen. Let’s just call in and see if someone reported it. If he didn’t lie about being stolen, he might not have lied about a reward either.” 

The last seemed to give Greg pause. “Okay,” he finally agreed. “Call in! I suppose we have nothing to lose checking it out, apart from an early lunch that is.”

John stepped away with his phone, while Greg put a hand on Taven’s shoulder. “There, there,” he said to Taven’s pitiful whimpers. “I know you’re hurting, boy, but if you didn’t lie to us, you’ll be fine. John only has to check it out, and we’ll help you… uh, in one way or the other.” 

Taven wanted to hope, but if Nickel hadn’t reported him stolen, if he didn’t want him back, well, then these police officers would take him to the slave center, and they would kill him, quickly and painlessly. By now, it was an almost comforting thought. 

Anything was better than Swift.

He only vaguely felt Greg’s hand patting his shoulder now, and John’s voice coming farther and farther away.

“…yes, ‘wren’. Like the bird, and ‘nickel’, like the metal. Redheaded kid, tattooed, long hair… Can you check that up? Great, thanks.”

Taven slipped away.

\-----o0o-----

Roth had finally finished his sandwich, but Nickel still hadn’t touched his. He was watching him instead, and as soon as he saw Roth was done, he put it away, unwrapped. “Can we go on now?” he asked.

He couldn’t look Nickel in the eyes. “I don’t know if… Yes. Yes, of course we can.” 

Roth turned the car key, but let go of it again when Nickel’s phone started ringing in his coat pocket, and his boss didn’t seem to react to it.

“You should probably answer that,” Roth said. “It might be your father.”

“Oh,” Nickel said, as if he hadn’t even noticed the signal, but he was nothing but obedient in this depressive state. “I suppose I should.” He fished up the phone, clicked it and put it to his ear. “Hello?” he said in a detached voice.

There was a moment of silence.

“Yes, I’m Lord Wren. Who am I speaking to?”

Roth turned his head, that couldn’t be the old lord. 

Another moment of silence, Nickel said ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘yes’ again, then gave a sudden start, and dropped the phone. With a shocked expression, he desperately patted his lap to find it again. 

“They… They’ve found Taven,” he gasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? wasn't that a nicer sort-of-cliffhanger? :-)
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!): 
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	76. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone wonders how things will be posted now that we are nearing the end of this story, and what will be posted, I made a little schedule:
> 
> January 31 - Chapter 77
> 
> February 7 - Chapter 78
> 
> February 14 - Chapter 79
> 
> February 21 - Chapter 80
> 
> February 28 - Chapter 81
> 
> March 7 - Chapter 82
> 
> March 14 - Chapter 83
> 
> March 21 - Chapter 84/85
> 
> March 28 - Chapter 86/87
> 
> April 4 - Chapter 88 - THE END!
> 
> April 11 - Side stories & Snippets (four in total, posted all at once) 
> 
> I will try to inform you all of any possible changes to this schedule, should they occur. 
> 
> /Fran

“Oh, give me the damn papers! Now, treat him, right this instance, you hear me? If he… If he dies, I- I’ll buy this whole fucking hospital, and I’ll _shut it down_.”

Roth raised his eyebrows at Nickel’s angry yelling farther down the corridor. The poor nurse, who’d given Nickel the papers, looked shocked but seemed to think there was no use in arguing with the angry aristocrat. He promised, in a placating tone, that everything would be done to the lord’s satisfaction, right away, and of course the hospital trusted him to pay for the treatment.

He shook his head. Throwing his weight about only to get his ways was exactly the kind of ‘lordly behavior’ Roth detested the most with the clans. Normally, he would have spoken up about it, but today he refrained. Nickel usually didn’t behave like this, and it was hard to blame him here in any case. 

The hospitals wouldn’t treat slaves before the paperwork was finished, which could be a highly frustrating policy to a caring owner in a case of an emergency. They hadn’t seen Taven, but from what they’d been very briefly told, the boy seemed to be in bad shape, and he could well understand Nickel’s fear Taven would simply die, while he filled in form after form, after form, the hospital staff coldly standing by. 

His boss was only acting out in desperation and worry.

Nickel came back and slumped down in the chair beside him in the waiting room. “Can you _believe_ that?” he said, shaking the bunch of papers at Roth in frustrated anger. Without waiting for an answer, he smoothed out the crumpled documents on his lap and started to go through them, muttering under his breath. 

Only minutes passed, but Roth was already fidgeting on the uncomfortable waiting room chair. Nickel busied himself with the papers and was able to temporarily direct his worries into finishing this task, but Roth was far from unmoved by the whole thing himself, and found it hard to just sit here, wondering if the poor thing in there was even going to make it at all.

He almost regretted giving up smoking all those years ago, at least he’d had a reason to step outside this depressing place for a while, and get some air. “Nickel,” he said. “I need some coffee. Thought I’d go across the street for it. I don’t know what they put in these vending machines, but coffee it ain’t. Will you be all right?”

Nickel looked up from the papers. “Oh? Yes, of course. I’m sorry, you’ve had so little sleep; coffee might do you some good.”

That was true, if anything. Roth felt like he hadn’t slept in years. “I won’t be long,” he promised. “You want me to bring you something?”

“No, I’m good. You go along!”

Roth patted Nickel’s shoulder, tried to give him an encouraging smile, and left.

\-----o0o-----

A doctor approached him in the waiting room, and Nickel got up on shaky legs.

“I beg your pardon, Sir,” he said. “I have to ask about the papers.”

Nickel scowled. “Don’t tell me you still didn’t…”

“We’re having a slow day; we’ve implemented the needed treatment, Sir, rest assured. Your boy is being prepared for surgery at this very moment, but we did make an exception for you, and I’d rather the paperwork was in order, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Nickel said. He turned for the papers he’d put down on the seat next to his. “Here! They’re finished.”

The doctor received them without looking at them. “Thank you, Sir.”

“How is he?” Nickel hurried to ask, afraid the doctor would leave without informing him, now that he had his precious documents. “How bad is it? Will he be all right?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered, making Nickel exhale in relief. “With proper treatment his condition isn’t life threatening, though as dehydrated as he was, and with further exposure to the cold, he wouldn’t have lasted long. He was lucky to be found when he was. However, ‘all right’, I suppose, would be relative to your intended future use of him.”

Nickel swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I follow?”

“He has several cracked ribs, a badly broken wrist, and what we call a Subtrochanteric fracture, which a layman would refer to as a ‘broken hip’. This boy won’t be doing any kind of work for months, I’m afraid.”

“Uh… I… He… That’s not an issue. He’s not a worker.”

“I figured as much. Judging from the all too obvious evidence of long term abuse, it’s quite clear he’s been destined for certain kind of ‘entertainment’ only.”

Nickel blanched. The doctor thought… He didn’t know if he was embarrassed or angry. “That’s not… I… I didn’t… None of that was me. His former owner is the one who abused him like this. The same man who I’m convinced also stole him, and- and… I took him up in my personal service. I was trying to keep him safe… Oh my God, that monster broke his hip?” 

It started to sink in what the doctor was telling him. Nickel swayed on his feet, slapping a hand over his mouth, feeling nauseous and dizzy.

The doctor had him sit down. “I apologize, Sir,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the situation. Obviously, you care about this slave. If it’s any consolation, his abductor did in fact not break either his hip or his wrist. The boy explained he accidentally caused himself these injuries, falling down the stairs while trying to escape, though his other, current, injuries are solely on that man.”

“I… The- the older ones are as well,” Nickel maintained, wanting to eliminate any lingering suspicion on the doctor’s part he had anything to do with Taven’s scars and marks. “What other injuries?” he asked. Nickel was _not_ going to faint and he wanted to know everything. 

The doctor told him all he knew, while Nickel did his best to keep his composure. Swift had raped Taven, cut him… “Can I see him?” he asked.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible at the moment. As I mentioned, he’s being prepared for surgery. This will take time, Sir; you should go home. You look like you could need some rest, and I assure you, the boy is in good hands here.”

Nickel shook his head. “I’ll wait.”

“Very well, Sir. I will have to go back. Let someone know if you feel faint.”

Only seconds after the doctor had left, Nickel was approached again.

“Excuse me, Sir; we don’t want to impose, but… How’s the boy doing?”

Nickel looked up in confusion at two uniformed men standing before him, but then his mind caught up. “Oh,” he said. “You must be the officers who found my boy?” He got up and reached his hand out. “I’m sorry; I believe I was never told your names?”

He shook hands with both of them in turn, as they introduced themselves.

“I have to ask your forgiveness,” Nickel said. “I haven’t even thanked you. I didn’t realize you followed the ambulance. I meant to look you up later, and… Well, you have my heartfelt thanks, officers. If you hadn’t been so quick to call it in…” 

The police officers gave him embarrassed smiles, seemingly not knowing how to react to his gratitude. There was a moment of awkward silence. “Um,” the oldest looking of the two men finally spoke up. “I’m glad the boy made it, and, um, he spoke to us, and, well, mentioned a… reward?”

“Greg!” The younger man nudged his colleague in the side with his elbow, looking mortified.

Nickel raised an eyebrow. “He mentioned a reward? Oh, my boy was quite correct; of course, you should be rewarded. I’ll write a check.” Nickel turned to look for the wallet in his coat, which he’d draped over the backrest of the chair. 

“Listen, Greg, I don’t think we can do this.” Nickel heard the younger man mumble behind him. “I checked it up on the way here, and we’re not allowed to accept monetary rewards from the public. I think it could be seen as…”

“Bribery?” Nickel asked, turning back around. 

He pulled his checkbook out of his wallet. “Surely not,” he continued. “I only want to show my gratitude, and I’m not expecting anything in return. This is a private matter, in any case, wouldn’t you agree? However, if you think it might be misunderstood by your superiors…Well, if you don’t tell them, I sure won’t.”

The younger man hesitated still. “I really don’t think we should…”

“Please,” Nickel interrupted. “Allow me this gesture. I’ve seen a much less compassionate attitude among some of your colleagues, and it would sadden me deeply if I couldn’t reward such kindness.” He turned to the younger officer. “I was told you gave him your coat to keep him warm, at least let me compensate you for…”

“It’s not a problem, Sir,” the man called Greg cut in, stepping in front his younger colleague. “You’re quite right, and John is being a bit overzealous in his interpretation of these rules. Of course it isn’t bribery, and handling this privately is completely fine by us.” He looked over his shoulder. “Right? John?”

The younger man called John looked slightly hesitant still. “I suppose. If…”

“Then it’s settled,” Nickel said, smiling at them both. He sat down to write the check, using his wallet as a pad. “Would this be adequate?” he said, getting back up and handing them the slip of paper. 

The younger man received it. “Uh! Oh my God!”

Greg snatched it from him and looked at it, his eyes widening. “That- that’s more than adequate, Sir, that’s… Thank you! I’m…”

“I’m sure you can use it,” Nickel said. “They don’t pay you enough, I imagine.”

“They sure don’t,” Greg agreed, seemingly unable to look away from the check, while John stared over his colleague’s shoulder with an open mouth. 

Ten thousand Taler to share between them would maybe encourage them to think of beaten and abused slaves as ‘real’, Nickel thought. It wouldn’t be the first time these police officers had found a slave in a similar situation, he suspected, and it wouldn’t be the last. However, many wouldn’t be so lucky as to have a kind master who was looking for them, and had reported them missing. 

Nickel’s thoughts went to the old biscuit factory. In the months since his donation, he’d discreetly checked up on the project on a regular basis, and the renovation was progressing nicely. If most officers could be persuaded to take slaves there in the future, instead of to the slave centers…

As for now, Nickel hadn’t been entirely truthful claiming he wasn’t expecting anything in return for his generous reward. “I was just curious,” he said, forcing himself to appear normal and casual. “Where did you find him?” 

“Um,” John answered. “It was down in the South End, Sir.”

“Yes, of course,” Nickel said. “I was told as much. I meant, on which address, exactly? My bodyguard and I looked all over the South End ourselves. I’d hate to learn we passed that street, and missed him. I have to know, I’m sure you understand.”

“We shouldn’t really give out that information, Sir.” Greg said. “Technically it’s a crime scene, but, waiting here, we’ve yet to even report this.” 

Nickel stared imploringly at the men in front of him. He’d given them all that money. Would they really deny him? Could they insist on being sticklers for rules and regulations, when one had so readily broken them for money and the other had so easily allowed himself to be talked into it?

“Well,” Greg amended, cringing under his eyes. “I suppose it can’t do any harm.” He leaned in closer. “152 Brewer Street, Sir,” he whispered. 

Nickel smiled. Of course they wouldn’t deny him. “Thank you,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

Roth returned some half hour later, bringing a coffee to go for Nickel. His boss might have declined earlier, but he could sure use some caffeine in his system, as well.

He was surprised to find the waiting room empty. 

Maybe Nickel was in the restroom. Roth put the paper cup on a table, and sat down to wait, but when the minutes ticked by and Nickel didn’t show up, he started to get worried. 

He checked the restroom, no Nickel in there. Had Taven’s condition worsened, and they had called Nickel to the boy’s side? Roth went to find someone to ask, and was informed this wasn’t the case either. A nurse checking it up returned shortly to tell him the boy was in surgery and doing as well as could be expected. She couldn’t tell where his master was. 

If Nickel wasn’t with Taven, then where the hell was he? Roth called him, but there was no answer. Had Nickel turned his phone off? By now, he was really quite worried. 

He walked down to the ground floor again and went for the main entry, intending to check if Nickel’s car was still out in the parking lot, but he never got that far. He spotted a uniformed police officer a few yards before him, on his way through the entry door, and hurried to catch up with him instead. 

“Officer!” he called out, giving the man an apologetic smile, as the police officer halted and turned around. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” he started. “I’m looking for my boss, a clan lord, I’m his bodyguard. He’s only been missing for a short while, but he’s been under a lot of pressure lately, and I think he might be in some kind of trouble, since no way would he leave…”

“A clan lord?” the young police officer interrupted. “You’re not Lord _Wren’s_ bodyguard, are you?” 

Roth raised an eyebrow. “I am. How did you know?”

“Um, it was my colleague and I who found his slave. We followed the ambulance here, and talked to your boss only a short while ago.”

“You talked to him, just now, in the waiting room?” The officer nodded. “But, where is he then? What did you tell him?”

The man actually cringed before him. “Um, I’m afraid my colleague might have made a mistake. Lord Wren wanted to know the address, where we found the slave, and, well… Greg told him.”

“Shit!” Roth swore. “Are you insane? Have you any idea what…?” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “I understand you don’t know what’s behind this, but how the hell could you have been so stupid? That slave is his favorite, and you saw what that bastard did to him. Did the possibility my boss would go down there to get even never once enter your minds?”

“I… We…” 

“He must have taken the car,” Roth interrupted. “You have to take me there.”

“I’m off duty,” the young officer protested weakly.

“For goodness sake, man,” Roth said. “Take me there! Now!”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel felt so strangely calm and collected behind the wheel of his car.

After everything that had happened, and after hearing the doctor describe Taven’s injuries, he should be more fraught and distressed, but he wasn’t. He’d managed to keep his composure talking to those police officers, too, and he was determined and gathered now. Of the frazzled, devastated lord, who’d let his worry consume him and had passively relied on his bodyguard, there was not a trace. 

152 Brewer Street. Nickel had a destination, and a goal, and he would allow no one to stop him.

He wasn’t familiar with the area and had to ask directions, but it didn’t take him long to find the right address. Nickel parked farther down the street and walked back to the apartment building, staring at the scruffy door. 

Swift was homeless, so this wasn’t his place. Whose was it? How had Swift gained access to it? Did he have a partner in this, or had he persuaded or threatened some acquaintance into lending him the place while they stayed away? It didn’t really matter, except for that Nickel hadn’t really thought of the possibility he might encounter more people than Swift. 

His determination started to crack a little. 

Learning Taven had managed to escape from the apartment where he’d been taken, Nickel had drawn the conclusion his kidnapper – there was no doubt in his mind, it _was_ Swift – must have temporarily left the boy on his own. 

He could think of only three possibilities following this: Swift had recently returned to find the boy missing, had realized this might mean they were on to him, and was now already long gone. He might have just returned to find the boy gone, but was still up there, right now, trying to figure out what to do, or, Swift hadn’t returned yet, and had no idea his victim had slipped out of his grasp.

If Swift had already left the South End or even the city, then Nickel would let justice have its course, as insufficient as it was, as he would have no other choice. However, if Swift was still here, or would soon return, then Nickel didn’t intend to call the police. 

He didn’t want justice; he wanted revenge. 

It was only he wasn’t quite clear on how he would manage this.

He tried the handle and the street door obediently swung open. Apartment buildings like these were normally locked to nonresidents, but he supposed – much like this whole area – the lock was broken. Nickel stepped inside, but stopped dead in his track immediately inside the door when he spotted blood on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. 

Taven’s blood. 

He stumbled outside again, doubling over and taking deep breaths. For a moment it hit him with full force, the pain and terror Taven must have felt up there, and how lonely and desperate he must have been. Nickel had to force himself to stop thinking of it. He was here to make Swift pay, and he must set all feelings aside, so he could think. 

Think then, Nickel, he told himself inside his head, straightening up and looking back to the street door. He really had no idea how to go about this. How would he even find the right apartment? Swift’s name wouldn’t be on the front door. Should he go up the stairs and knock on all the doors, until the right person opened? What if Swift’s possible accomplice opened, then he still wouldn’t know. What if the apartment doors had spy holes and Swift would see him coming, not opening the door at all? 

What would he do if Swift did open one of the doors?

Nickel wasn’t stupid; he realized he couldn’t win a regular fight with Swift, no matter his martial art skills. It was only a sport, exercise, or something he might be able to use in a self-defense situation. It certainly wasn’t an attack weapon for a sheltered lord whose enemy was twice as big, and a hundred times as vicious. It was only luck, really, how he’d managed to knock out Swift that time at the mall. He’d surprised the man and caught him completely unawares.

Well, he simply would have to rely on the element of surprise once again then. As long as Swift couldn’t see him coming, he would surely be so astonished, answering the door to _him_, Nickel would have a chance to get a kick in. Aiming as well as he did last time it should knock Swift out cold. If Swift weren’t up there, he’d go back outside, hide somewhere, wait, and attack Swift as soon as he came back. Surely, he wouldn’t see that coming, either. 

Nickel had no idea what he meant to do _after_ he’d managed to knock out Swift. Did he intend to kick and beat an unconscious man? He didn’t know and wasn’t able to think that far in his hatred anyway. Nickel only knew he couldn’t live with himself if he let Swift get away one more time.

He wasn’t given a chance to get this ‘first kick in’, to knock out Swift.

Some part of Nickel did register the sloshing steps in the wet snow rapidly approaching him from behind, but he was too much into his thoughts to react in time. Someone grabbed the collar at the back of his coat, jerked him close and pressed a gun barrel into his cheek.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

The third possibility had manifested itself. While he’d been staring at the street door, trying to think of a plan of action, Swift had returned, surprising _him_.

There was a delighted cackle in his ear. “Look at this, if it ain’t Lord Shithead himself. Oh man, this must be my lucky day.”

Nickel froze, scared stiff at the sudden appearance and the gun pressed to his head. Somehow it had never entered his mind Swift might be armed. He was stupid, he was so, _so_, stupid, and it was madness to have come here in the first place. 

“So,” Swift said. “You figured out it was me, eh? Found me, too? Clever little lord, ain’t you? Well, now that you’re here anyway, wanna come up and watch what I’m gonna do to your whore? No? Oh, come on, you’re gonna love the show, I promise.” 

Somehow, even through his terror-addled mind, Nickel found his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound sarcastic, and not show how frightened he was. “I- I’m afraid there’ll be no ‘show’. The boy isn’t up there. You’ve lost him.”

Swift ground the gun against his cheek, hard enough to scratch the skin. “You fucking liar,” he roared into his ear.

“No- not a lie,” Nickel said, blinking against the spit hitting him in the face, and struggling to keep his voice steady. “How else do you think I knew where to find you? He managed to escape, told two police officers what happened, and was brought back to me. Taven is perfectly fine, and _you_ will _not_ have your fun today, you fucking sadistic psychopath!” 

Swift growled in his ear, goring the gun into his tender cheek. Nickel held his breath, his heart thundering in his chest. 

“Yeah? All right, so let’s say you ain’t lying, Lord Shithead, then that’s a damn shame. I’ve sort of been looking forward to cutting that whiny piss-stinking whore to pieces all day. I’ve been itching to fuck his intestines to shreds and hearing those delicious screams. It makes me hard just thinking about it.” He pressed his groin into Nickel’s back. “Can you feel that?”

Nickel _could_ feel it, and it nearly made him throw up. 

“Yeah, it’s a fucking shame. I’d sort of counted on getting to take that hair with me, too, but, if that’s how it is; then I just have to replace him with you, haven’t I? It’s _you_ I really wanna hurt, after all.”

Bile rose in Nickel’s mouth. 

“Ever been fucked real good, _Sir_? No? Well, you’ve been missing out. Don’t worry, I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before, faggot. I’m gonna do all the stuff I was planning to do to him. Cut you, flay you, pull your teeth… I’ve been looking all over for the right tools. Do you know how long it took me to find a fucking soldering iron? Damn shame if it ain’t gonna be used Yeah, you’re so gonna get a matching whore brand on your pert lily white ass.”

For the first time, Nickel thought he might fully understand the terror Taven had lived with for so many years. He was close to peeing himself, only barely managing to speak. “It- it… This is different… The law… You- you… You’ll be murdering a clan lord. You’ll get the death penalty,” he gasped, near tears.

“Yeah? You know what, precious?” Swift pressed him closer and licked at his cheek while he reached around and squeezed Nickel hard between the legs with his free hand. “I _don’t_ care.”

“SWIFT!” 

The sudden roar echoed between the buildings in the empty street. 

Swift spun around, pulled Nickel with him, and flung his gun hand out against the new threat.

“Roth!” Nickel screamed in warning, uselessly struggling in the monster’s tight grip around his neck.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening.


	77. The Aftermath

Swift simply collapsed on the spot, slumping down like an oversized rag doll against his boss’ legs, while the gray slush of snow at Nickel’s feet turned redder and redder.

The bullet had hit him right in the forehead.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” It was the young police officer behind him. “Sir, I think you’ll have to give me that gun now.”

Roth snapped out of it and slowly turned, holding his gun out in as nonthreatening a manner as he was able, while the police officer scrambled for something to take it with, finally fishing up a napkin from a coat pocket with a shaking hand. 

“You’ll find that I have a license for that,” Roth said, “and I _am_ a licensed bodyguard. I’ll provide all the papers you might need, and... You saw what happened. He had a gun on my boss. He threatened us. I only acted the way my profession requires me to.”

“I know, Sir, I saw, I saw everything. I still want you to back away while I call this in and…” He fumbled with his phone, still holding the gun with his other hand. 

Roth looked over his shoulder. Nickel seemed to be in some kind of shock. He was staring straight ahead, not moving, Swift’s body still limp and heavy against his legs. He hadn’t even tried to step away. “Uh, would you mind if I saw to my boss?” Roth asked.

As shaken as the young officer obviously was, he seemed to take in the lord’s state. “Ah, yes, that would probably be all right. Go ahead, just try not to touch the body, and… Don’t go anywhere! Damn, what a fucking day. I was off duty. I was going home…”

The officer finally seemed to get his phone the right side up. Roth walked up to Nickel, gently steering him away from the body, and then he held him by the shoulders when Nickel doubled over after only a few steps and retched violently.

\-----o0o-----

Roth patted Nickel’s shoulder, gave him a bunch of tissues, closed the car door on him against the cold and walked back toward the apartment building. Nickel would be fine, though he was still shaken up. Roth wasn’t sure if he’d vomited because someone had been shot right in front of him, or because Swift had licked his face and grabbed him between the legs. The last would have been quite sufficient to make _him_ throw up, Roth thought with a shudder.

The young police officer who had brought him here – and just in time – had finally managed to call for backup. Yet another police car was now parked in the street and the ambulance with Swift’s body had just left. 

Roth looked about; the shot must have been heard a mile away. There were curious eyes behind every curtain in the surrounding buildings, and people gathering farther down the street. 

The officers had all gone inside to check out the apartment. 

Nickel and he wasn’t under arrest, but would be required to come with them to the station later for questioning. Apparently, they were trusted not to leave while unattended, though why would they? They’d done nothing wrong, had already announced their intent to cooperate, and would be easy to find in any case. Besides, they’d taken his wallet and every piece of paper he had on him.

The same young officer, his name was John; Roth had learned, came outside and walked up to him, holding a zip bag. “We’ll soon be done here,” he informed him. “How is he?” he asked, pointing behind Roth to Nickel’s car.

“He’ll be fine,” Roth answered. “It was a bit of shock, as you can imagine.”

“Tell me about it.” John grinned, looking embarrassed. “I’ve been in this work for less than a month; I’ve never seen anyone shot before. Well, as I said, we’ll soon be done, and then I’m afraid there’ll be a few hours for the both of you at the station.”

Roth was only listening with half an ear, having discovered the contents of the bag the officer was holding. “Are those photos of…?”

John raised the bag and looked at it as if he’d just remembered what was in his hand. “The kid? Yes. I found them kind of displayed on the kitchen table, like…”

“You looked at them?”

“Couldn’t really avoid it, the way they were arranged. Believe me, I wish I hadn’t. That was one hell of a sick bastard. Poor kid.”

“Did the others see them, too?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so; they were looking through the other rooms, and I came right out here. Why?”

Roth held his hand out. “Can I please have them?”

“What? No! I can’t give them to you. They’re evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” Roth argued. “Look, we both know nothing will come of this and those photos won’t be needed. How would you feel if a whole police station got to see pictures like that of you?”

The young officer hesitated.

“Come on!” Roth tried. “There’s no risk, no one knows about them but you. Have a heart! Please?”

John looked about, and then stepped closer to Roth, shoving the bag of photos in his hand with a quick motion. Roth slipped them inside his coat as quickly. “Thanks,” he said. 

The young police officer sighed. “Yeah, I should probably quit this job,” he murmured, again looking about him in worry. “Seeing as I can’t seem to keep myself on the right side of the law.”

“Nonsense,” Roth replied. “Your heart is in the right place. The police force needs more men like you, not less. Stay and try not to get too jaded.” 

John only gave him a wry smile in reply.

\-----o0o-----

Waking up was painful and confusing.

He was so dizzy and groggy it took him quite a while to understand where he was. Taven only knew it wasn’t Swift’s bathroom, which, at first, was good enough, but then he realized he was all alone in a small, one-bed room, and his confusion grew. 

Things slowly came back to him, and he remembered being carried into a hospital, people asking him all sorts of questions, prodding him all over, shushing him when he screamed in pain, washing him… Things were fuzzy after that, and obviously, he’d blacked out again, or had they put him under? He carefully lifted his good hand – staring at the taped down inserted needle – and lifted his covers. His leg was bandaged up over his hip. He dropped the covers and felt at his face, his cut cheek was patched up, as well. His other hand was in a cast. 

They had treated him, and it could only mean one thing, they _had_ called Nickel. His master was the only one who could have agreed to have his injuries seen to, but if he really wanted his slave back, after all, then why wasn’t he here. 

Taven whimpered, he was in so much pain still, and he didn’t understand anything. If only someone would come talk to him.

Someone did finally enter the room, but it made him none the wiser. The nurse looked annoyed at having to deal with him and completely ignored any questions he tried to croak out while she checked on him with rushed movements. Lastly, she pumped something into the needle on his hand, and left without having spoken a single word. 

Maybe she’d given him something for the pain, as eventually it did start to become duller. Whatever it was, it made him drowsy, and he was soon drifting in and out of a shallow sleep, bizarre dream images mixing with terrifying memories.

\-----o0o-----

“Oh my God, Taven, what did he do to you?”

Taven weakly turned his head when he realized the voice, and the hand that sat gently on his arm, wasn’t just another weird dream image. The sight of a familiar face in the chair pulled up to his bed made him want to cry in relief. “Mr. Roth?” he croaked.

Mr. Roth smiled, though his eyes were filled with sadness as he looked at him. “They said you woke from surgery already some time ago. I’m sorry we weren’t here.”

“You… You didn’t come for me,” Taven said, unable to hide the hurt in his voice, tears welling up in his eyes.

Mr. Roth seemed taken aback. “What? No, no, no, how can you think…? We looked for you, Taven. Believe me, we looked _everywhere_. I had to force Nickel to stop to eat even. I don’t think he’s slept a wink for two days. He refused to give up.”

Taven’s heart thumped in his chest. Could it be true? He hardly dared believe. “But, Mr. Roth, you knew… You knew where I was. You- you were there to get Silas, and…”

The bodyguard raised his fist in the air, making Taven flinch. 

“That fucking _bastard_,” he swore loudly. “I hope he burns in hell. Taven, whatever Swift told you, he lied. Silas was in the same place as you, in the same apartment where Swift had lived all along. He was evicted only a few months ago, and was homeless. If he told you the place he took you to was his, and that I had been there, he lied to you. We had _no_ idea where to find you.”

The horrible ride in the smelly ice-cold trunk popped into Taven’s mind. Swift had only stopped once, to talk with someone. Oh, he understood now it was to convince someone he knew to let him use their place. He had lied. The tears started for real. Swift _had_ lied. 

“You looked for me?” he sniveled. “You really looked?”

Mr. Roth scooted the chair closer, and gently caressed him over the head. “Of course we looked. Have you any idea how much Nickel wants you back? He cried, because he didn’t know how to find you, and I’ve never seen your master cry _once_, in all the years I worked for him.”

“He really…? But, why ain’t he…? Why won’t he come see me?”

Mr. Roth smiled that sad smile again. “He isn’t staying away by choice. Oh, I suppose I have to explain. We weren’t able to be here when you woke up, boy, because we were being questioned by the police, and your master is still down at the station.”

The police? Taven stared at Mr. Roth without understanding. Why would the police question them both for so long only because some slave boy had been stolen? He didn’t get it. 

Mr. Roth looked at him with a very serious expression. “Taven, Swift, he… Swift is dead. He’s dead and gone, boy, and he’ll never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.”

Swift was dead? Taven couldn’t believe it. How could that be? Some part of his exhausted mind was telling him this was wonderful news he should be absolutely joyous about, but it sounded so unreal he wasn’t even able to feel relief, and then it hit him. “Oh, shit, no!” he blurted out, worry washing over him. “Master… Master killed him? Oh, fuck! The police took him again? Ain’t that really bad, Mr. Roth? What if he goes to prison?”

Mr. Roth gave him a tender smile and patted his arm in comfort. “Nickel won’t go to prison, don’t worry. Your master had nothing to do with it, and the police only want to know what happened. It was only they finished with me first and I rushed here to let you know. No, your master didn’t do anything. I did. I killed Swift. I shot him. I shot him in the fucking head, and he was dead before he even hit the ground. Hearing what he said to Nickel, knowing what he used to do to Silas, what he did to you… Know this, Taven; I was fucking _happy_ he gave me the excuse.”

Taven gaped in wonder. Mr. Roth had killed Swift, shot him in the head, for his and Silas’ sake. He’d known for quite a while Mr. Roth wasn’t the bad guy he’d once thought, but it was still inconceivable to him any free man would go _that_ far. His master really wasn’t the only weird free man. 

It struck Taven the bodyguard also deserved his worry. “But- but won’t _you_ go to prison then?”

Mr. Roth shook his head. “No, I won’t. A police officer witnessed the whole thing. It was a clear case of self-defense and has already been written off. It’s my job to protect my boss in any case. Nothing will happen to me.”

“I don’t get it,” Taven said. “Why were you all with Swift in the first place?”

Mr. Roth kept caressing his head. “We’ll explain it all to you later,” he said. “The only thing you need to think about right now is that we’re both so happy and relieved to have you back, and you’ll never have to be scared of Swift again.” 

Taven could hardly see for all the tears in his eyes, but he heard the truth in the bodyguard’s voice. They _had_ looked, they’d been worried, his master had _cried_, they wanted him back… Swift was _dead_. 

He wanted to thank Mr. Roth, but the door flung open, startling them both. Taven reached out his good hand, desperately wishing he could get out of the bed and run up to the door. His master, finally, Nickel was here.

“Taven!” his master, yelled, tears in his eyes. “Oh my God!”

\-----o0o-----

It wasn’t until Roth started to fumble with the keys to his door he realized just how tired he was. In fact, he was exhausted.

After Nickel’s touching reunion with Taven, he’d seen the equally exhausted young lord home, and now he couldn’t wait to get inside, take a long hot shower; kick back on the couch with something to eat, and then go to bed and sleep for a week. 

He smiled at Silas who met him inside the door. Roth only needed to get off his feet, and he’d have Silas sit down with him so he could tell him the good news. The boy would be so relieved.

Roth kicked off his shoes and shrugged his coat off, hanging it up as he put a hand on Silas’ shoulder, ushering the boy inside, but maybe, in his weariness, he’d been a bit sloppy hanging the coat. Behind them, he heard it fall to the floor, and felt how Silas turned and slipped under his arm, ever eager to pick up anything he might drop. Silas grabbed the coat, and the zip-bagged photos fell out, the boy leaning over to pick them up.

Roth panicked. “Don’t touch that!” he yelled, cutting in front of Silas to snatch up the zip bag. 

Silas collapsed. There was no other way to describe how he limply fell flat on his face on the floor at Roth’s feet. Roth crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder, but Silas only whimpered and shook at the touch, his terror palpable. 

Roth retreated. “I… I’m sorry, Silas,” he said, backing away. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just that… There’s something in this bag I don’t want you to see, something bad. It would have scared you, you understand. Then I go and scare you instead. Pretty stupid, eh?”

Silas was still shivering on the floor, not moving, making Roth feel increasingly worse. “You’re not in trouble, Silas,” he tried. “Not in any way. I’m not angry, and I never was. I was only worried you’d be hurt, and… I’ll go inside now, and you come, too, whenever you’re ready, okay?” He turned and walked over to the living room with a heavy heart, hoping removing his imposing figure was the right thing to do, and that he hadn’t just completely ruined months of carefully trying to gain Silas’ trust.

Roth slumped down on the couch, still holding the bag of photos and almost automatically, he opened it and took them out, looking them over, one by one. 

Taven’s pale face staring into the camera, terror in his eyes, Taven’s body, scarred and thin, heavily bruised, lying in a pool of his own urine, his hands chained over his head. A close up of a fresh gaping wound, tears mixing with blood. Taven’s raw anus; blood smeared between his legs… That tattoo, those scars, the missing nipple… He’d never actually seen them before.

Roth slowly gathered the photos, turned the stack upside down on the coffee table and shoved them aside. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaned over, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He felt so weird. His hands shook, his heart raced, and there was this strange soughing sound in his ears. What was wrong with him? 

Maybe it was only the lack of sleep catching up with him, or maybe, just maybe, he was finally allowed to fall apart. 

Ever since Nickel had called, he’d been the one who had had to hold it all together, and remain calm and effective. Nickel had been beside himself, and it had been on him to keep his boss from going nuts, from attacking officers at the police station, and not fainting from hunger. Roth had been driving him all over, organizing a search, neglecting sleep... He’d been worried, too, but he’d had to push it aside. 

Then his boss had stupidly run off on his own. If Nickel only knew how scared he’d been to find his best friend with a gun to his head, and... 

Oh my God, he’d shot Swift. 

Roth let his shaking hands sink and stared at them. He’d felt exhilarated at that moment, and even now he could recall the feeling vividly. He hadn’t shot a person; he’d ridden the world of a monster. A monster that had hurt people he cared about. Taven, Nickel, Silas… It had felt so damn good just to shoot the fucking bastard. 

The buzz of adrenaline had soon faded, but he still hadn’t _wanted_ to feel anything else than good about it, convinced he’d done the right thing. He realized now such a conviction, no matter how true and reasonable, shouldn’t mean it was a small matter to him. The fact remained, he’d never killed another human being before, and if the shot left him completely unaffected then what separated him from the likes of Swift? 

Roth recalled how he’d sat at Taven’s bedside and told the boy he was happy he’d shot someone, and that wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to be. Was that a person Evelyn deserved to be with?

He kept staring at his shaking hands, trying to take deep breaths, relieved his body was telling him he was, in fact, far from unaffected. At the same time, this fact scared him even more. What if his hands had shook like this back there? He could have missed.

Anguish washed over him. 

It hadn’t occurred to him at the time he could have missed. Roth was an excellent shot, and years practicing at shooting ranges, not to mention countless times skeet shooting with his boss, had assured he seldom missed his mark. Besides, he’d been relatively close to Swift, and there was no way he could have missed at that distance. 

Only, things were never that simple.

Shooting people wasn’t the same as shooting targets, moving or not. It didn't matter how good of a shot he was. If he’d hesitated, Swift could have shot him instead, or that young police officer. Roth could have misjudged Swift’s movements and only injured him, again giving him a chance to shoot. Hell, Roth could have missed completely and shot his own best friend.

A cold sweat broke out on his face when he realized just how many things could have gone wrong. What if Nickel had died, he couldn’t even imagine the… What if _he_ had died? If something happened to the both of them, what would become of Taven and Silas? Roth shook all over thinking about all the people who relied on him, relied on his ability to make split second decisions, and the right ones at that. 

Was he really the right person to rely on? Just look at how he’d yelled at poor Silas for no reason, scaring him so badly the boy was on the floor whimpering. Roth felt sick to his stomach realizing, when Silas was that frightened, he would probably not even be able to tell him apart from Swift. What would be the difference to him? 

Roth looked up at the stack of photos on the coffee table before him. Did Silas believe him capable of…? Oh God, why had he looked at those damn photos…

He startled when there was suddenly a pair of hands in his vision, putting a tray down on the coffee table, steam rising from a cup of black coffee and a mug of hot cocoa, a plate of biscuits at the side. He looked up at Silas, who looked back at him with such a serious face, his eyebrows drawn together in worry, before the boy demurely let his gaze drop to the floor, as usual. 

Roth stared. Never before had Silas put together a tray of anything for him without an explicit order to do so. It was always, _always_ he who invited the boy to these coffee and cocoa moments together, and Silas would never assume… Warmth spread throughout his chest, and these silly hot tears started to prickle at his eyes. Silas understood something was wrong, and he’d dared assume – to comfort him. 

“Thank you, Silas,” Roth said; hoping the boy understood it wasn’t the coffee in itself he was most grateful about. “Come sit with me,” he said, venturing a shaky smile. “I have some good news for you.”


	78. Confrontations and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Serenity returns, and... poor guy, this just wasn't his week, was it? :-(
> 
> Also, I've been extra busy this week and are therefore terribly late in replying to last chapter's comments. I do apologize and will try to catch up on everything this coming week. Thank you SO much to everybody who drops me a line, in spite of my tardiness. 
> 
> /Fran

Roth stepped into Taven’s hospital room at the late evening visiting hour, nodding to Nickel who was already there, sitting at the boy’s bedside. “How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m much better, Mr. Roth,” Taven answered with a decisive pout. “I could go home.”

“You’re far from ready to go home,” Nickel cut in. “It’s only been a few days.”

“I’m just lying in a fu… I stay in bed all day,” Taven protested. “I can do that at home, too.”

Roth grinned; taking his coat off and grabbing a chair to sit down at Taven’s other bedside. Taven’s crankiness was a good sign, he hoped, evidence the boy was becoming his old self, though he didn’t really believe so. He’d been visiting the evening before as well, bringing Silas, and Taven had even joked with his little friend, telling him to stop looking so worried, he wasn’t ‘that easy to kill’. The bravado hadn’t really fooled Roth. This must have affected Taven badly, and eventually, it would show. 

“He does have a point, Nickel,” Roth said. 

Nickel frowned. “Don’t encourage him. I want to be sure he can…”

They all heard it, the hesitant steps outside the half-open door, and the discreet cough on the threshold. Nickel cut himself short, Taven’s eyes widened and Roth turned in his chair. 

Serenity was standing in the door.

“Oh, shit,” Roth said, but Nickel was already on his feet, his eyes black with fury. 

Serenity didn’t have a chance to say a single word before Nickel stormed up to the door, raised his arm and whacked him across the mouth with the back of his hand.

Roth winced. Damn, he’d never seen Nickel hit a slave, and that hadn’t exactly been a light slap either. 

Serenity yelped in what must have been both shock and pain, but didn’t even try to move out of the way when he was hit a second time.

Nickel pushed Serenity out into the corridor with an angry snarl, and it was obvious from the sounds he kept hitting the slave out there. Roth hesitated. He should probably intervene, but a part of him couldn’t help thinking Serenity, at the very least, deserved a few slaps. 

Taven didn’t seem to agree. He reached out with his good hand and tugged imploringly at Roth’s sleeve. “Stop him, Mr. Roth! Please!” he begged. 

Roth nodded and went after them. 

He found Serenity on his knees, cowering on the floor, pressed up against the wall, trying to protect his head from Nickel’s furious slaps with shaking arms. 

“Hey, boss,” Roth said, putting a hand on Nickel’s shoulder. “I think that’s enough.” Nickel ignored him, and Roth finally grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “For goodness sake, Nickel, he doesn’t belong to you.”

Nickel angrily shook his arm free from Roth’s grip, turned away from them both and stomped back into Taven’s room, slamming the door shut. 

Roth jumped at the loud bang, but assured a speedily approaching nurse – no doubt wondering what all the noise was about – that everything was all right. The nurse looked suspicious, her eyes widening at the sight of the man huddled against the wall, but nodded, turned and left again.

He looked down at Serenity, who was still holding his arms over his head. Roth was tempted to ignore him and go see to Nickel instead. However, the pathetic sight awoke his compassion, and his boss might need some space in any case. He stayed and reached down. 

Serenity put his violently shaking hand in Roth’s and let himself be pulled to his feet. 

Funny, Roth thought, he’d never before noticed how scarred Serenity’s wrists were. 

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Roth,” Serenity replied, though he looked anything but. He was trembling like a leaf and gingerly kept touching at his mouth. One of those vicious whacks must have split the side of his upper lip, and there was some blood. “I… didn’t really expect anything else,” he added. 

“Then why the hell did you come here?” Roth demanded. 

Serenity shrunk at his angry voice, there seemed to be nothing left of his former brazen nature at all. “I heard… I was told they’d found him, and… I had to see for myself Taven was all right. I wanted to tell him that… I hoped Nickel wouldn’t be here this late.” He winced as he spoke and kept dabbing at his lip. 

Roth took pity on him and gave him a crumpled up paper napkin that remained in his pants pocket from a sandwich he’d bought earlier. Serenity nodded his thanks once again and put it to his lip. 

“Please tell me, Mr. Roth,” he pleaded. “He _is_ all right, is- isn’t he?”

Roth sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, boy. He’ll live, but, no, Taven isn’t really all right. He was badly hurt, and it’s only because of a series of fortunate circumstances he survived at all, or was found. His body will heal, but what this did to his mind… I can’t even imagine.”

Serenity’s shoulders came up. He hid his face in the now bloodstained tissue and started to sob. “I- I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he finally managed, his tall frame racked with tears.

Roth sighed again. He had mixed feelings and didn’t know what to think. 

On one hand, it felt somewhat unfair to blame Serenity so harshly and entirely. Roth had asked both Nickel, and Taven, on separate occasions, and had learned none of them had ever told Serenity a single thing about Swift. Serenity had had no idea of the specific risks, and Roth thought even him wouldn’t have been careless enough to pull a stunt like this if he’d been sufficiently informed. On the other hand, Serenity was, in spite of his numerous flaws and vices, undoubtedly a smart guy, and would be well aware of what risks _all_ slaves were facing out there on their own, regardless. 

There really were no fucking excuses for bringing Taven with him on his reckless excursions into the city. Roth’s sympathy dwindled again. “How did you get here?” he growled. “Don’t tell me you took the car.”

Serenity shook his head with a cynic sneer. “No, Mr. Roth, I didn’t. I’ll most likely never drive again. Master Constantine has revoked that privilege for the rest of my life, if I understood his angry yelling correctly. No, I took the bus, Sir. I had some money tucked away, so, I walked the three miles down to the main road and… took the bus.”

“Do you have enough to get back?”

Serenity nodded. “Just about, though there aren’t that many buses going out there. The next one doesn’t go until ten o’clock tonight. Guess I’ll have to find something in the city to amuse myself with in the meantime.” 

“Are you fucking nuts, slave. You’ll do no such thing. I’ll drive you back. Go and wait for me inside the main entry. I’ll just get my coat and let Nickel know I’m leaving.”

Serenity hung his head and nodded.

\-----o0o-----

When Roth came down a little while later, Serenity was waiting where he’d been told. Roth walked up to him and patted his shoulder. “All right, let’s go then,” he said. He was surprised when Serenity hunched over at the light touch and grunted in pain. Roth didn’t think Nickel had managed to hurt him _that_ badly, not through the winter coat Serenity was wearing. 

Serenity was out the entry doors before Roth had a chance to ask about it, but as he climbed into the passenger seat, it became even more obvious he was sore all over. Serenity kept moaning and wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position. 

“Lord Engel punished you?” Roth asked as they drove out of the icy parking lot. 

“Yes,” Serenity admitted, bitterness scrunching up his pretty face. “You’ll be glad to know, Sir,” he snarled, “that the Head Lord had me properly flogged. You’ll be pleased to hear, I’m sure, it hurt like _fucking hell_, and still does.”

“Don’t give me that fucking attitude, boy!” Roth snapped. “Do I think you deserve punishment for what you did? You bet your ass I do. Do I take pleasure in seeing slaves hurt? No, I don’t. So don’t give me that shit!”

Serenity hung his head and didn’t speak for several long moments. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he finally said, his voice devoid of any sort of attitude this time. “That was rude and insolent. Please, forgive me.”

Roth shrugged his shoulders.

“It- it was horrible, Mr. Roth,” Serenity continued. 

Roth was surprised it seemed Serenity wanted to confide in him about the experience, but he supposed he had no one else to tell. Taven was obviously out of the question. 

“Master Constantine was furious,” Serenity went on, his voice shaky. “He always was this grumpy old fart, you know, but he was usually never really angry with me, not for real. I could always make him forgive me. Not this time. I didn’t even try. I’ve never seen him that angry before. The way he looked at me, I was on my knees before he even started yelling. He scared the shit out of me.”

“And then he flogged you?”

“Yes! No, I mean, he watched, but he didn’t actually do it himself. He had one of the workers do it.” Serenity’s tongue again dripped with bitterness. “They all hate me, you know. That big stupid smelly oaf of a field worker just loved watching me strip. I bet he got a fucking boner tying me up and getting to lay that strap on my back and ass. Best day of his life, I’m sure.”

Roth nodded. He didn’t doubt at all the spoiled concubine wasn’t very popular among the rest of the slaves at the Engel Mansion. 

Serenity looked out the window. “You think you’ll be brave, you know, that you can take it, but you don’t really understand. You don’t get just how humiliating it is, and how much it really hurts. You think you won’t cry; that you’ll show them. Yeah, right! I was bawling like a fucking baby in no time. A few lashes, and I was yelling like a crazy person, begging for mercy. Not that it did me any good.” Serenity gave up a dry laugh. “I didn’t take my punishment in a very dignified manner, I’m afraid.”

Roth had to admit to himself that he wasn’t sure he would have taken such a thing very well either. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t be, I deserved it. I deserve all the restrictions I’ll be living under from now on, as well. No more cars for me, no more money, no more of leaving the house on my own…”

Roth shook his head. “And yet, here you are. You’re breaking the rules already. I don’t understand you, boy. Why do you do things like this? You have a good life, relatively speaking. You’re well taken care of, you have privileges few slaves have, you have a master who’s fond of you. Why are you like this?”

Serenity kept staring out the window. “I _had_ to see how he was.”

“I know,” Roth said. “I’m not talking about tonight. I’m talking about your behavior overall. You can’t be _that_ fucking bored. I know you’re not stupid. Take this thing with Nickel… Fuck, your own master allowed you to have a relationship with him, and Nickel treated you well, too. I think you even actually cared about him, but what do you do? You cheat on him first chance you get. For goodness sake, slave, you even came on to _me_, his best friend. Why do you do things like that?”

Serenity turned to him, his expression a mix of indignation, hurt and surprise. “You- you… I don’t mean to be insolent again, Mr. Roth, and by all means, hit me if you must, but… You don’t know what it’s like, Sir. I did what I thought was expected of me. What the hell else is a slave suppose to do? What was I suppose to think when Nickel made sure I’d be alone with you? Masters let their friends fuck their slaves all the time, especially their best friends. The lords think it’s only polite, you know, and I am indeed not stupid. 

“They’d say you’re just a bodyguard, but I knew better. I knew you were much more than that. You’re his _friend_, he left me alone with you, and I wanted to show I’d be good to his friend, and… Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Roth, you’re a very attractive man. If things had been different, I wouldn’t exactly have minded if you’d fucked me, but I didn’t think I was going behind Nickel’s back. I thought he wanted me to… be nice to you.” 

Roth didn’t know what to say. He tried to think back on that day when Serenity had seductively offered himself, but couldn’t remember how it was he’d found himself alone with the slave. Roth was pretty damn sure it wasn’t because Nickel had _planned_ it, though. It was clear to him now Serenity had in any case interpreted completely coincidental circumstances in just such a way. Roth started to understand slaves might have a very different perspective on things, and maybe he’d been wrong and unfair in thinking of Serenity as a… 

Well, as a slut, basically.

Serenity hung his head again. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Roth. I understood I got it all wrong when you pushed me away. I’m so sorry I offended you, I didn’t mean to, I swear. I was scared for weeks, thinking I’d get shit for it.”

Roth couldn’t help grinning. “I wasn’t offended, that wasn’t it. Besides, you were safe, I never told anyone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roth.”

“So, that thing with Nickel’s father…?”

Serenity slumped down in the car seat, moaning. “Oh my God, how did you…? Please tell me Nickel doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him either. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t _want_ to know.”

Serenity sighed deeply. “It was way before Nickel came to Master Constantine and asked for me, Mr. Roth,” he explained. “Old Lord Wren and Master Constantine have known each other since they were kids, and their clans were always close. When Nickel’s father still lived at the mansion, Master sometimes invited Lord Wren over for these party nights. They were drinking and talking shit, smoking cigars and playing cards, things like that. It was completely informal and usually only the two of them, so they didn’t exactly behave gentlemanly, if you know what I mean. I was only a teenager at the time, but of course, Master always wanted me there to refill their glasses, sit on his lap, and strut about half-naked. Once he had me serve them in a feather boa, and nothing else. 

“Lord Wren Senior though, he isn’t really into boys at all. He’d never touched me before, or since for that matter. I don’t know why he wanted me that night. I wore a lot of makeup and I hadn’t cut my hair in a while; maybe he thought I looked girlier than usual. I wasn’t exactly happy about it, but Master was drunk and didn’t want to say no. I could have said no myself, I have that right, you know, but… Saying no isn’t as easy as free men think. Paragraphs on paper saying you can, don’t really help in the real world. Master had already thoughtlessly agreed, so what was I suppose to have done? Insult my master’s guest? Make my master look bad? Besides, it wasn’t awful or anything. Nickel’s father, he isn’t a bad man. He was kind and gentle, and very virile for his age.”

Roth raised a hand to cut him off. “Okay, you’re getting into way too much information for me here, boy,” he grinned. “No intimate details, thank you!” 

Serenity gave him a weak smile in return. 

Silence fell, and neither of them seemed to want to break it. Serenity didn’t offer any more insights, staring out the window with a gloomy expression, but he’d already given Roth quite a few things to think about. 

Eventually they reached the gates of the Engel Mansion, and Roth stopped the car right outside of them. “Well,” he said. “You’re home safe. You’ll be all right, boy?”

Serenity nodded. “I guess so. Master might punish me again, but he won’t scar or injure me, and he won’t throw me out, so… Yeah, I suppose I’ll be all right.” He fell silent again, but didn’t make a move to get out of the car. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small zip bag. “These are Taven’s earrings,” he said. “He left them at my cottage when… Well, I thought he might want them back, and… Since it’s very likely I’ll never see him again, would you see to it he gets them?”

Roth took the zip-bagged earrings and nodded. 

“Would you please also…? Please tell Taven I’m truly sorry for what I did, and… I know he’ll probably never forgive me, I know none of you will ever forgive me, but please tell him anyway.”

“I’ll tell him,” Roth promised. 

Serenity thanked him and opened the car door. Well outside he pulled the coat snug against the cold wind and didn’t look back as he walked inside to face his master.

\-----o0o-----

“Master?” Taven tried carefully, hoping enough time had passed.

His master had been so angry coming back into his room – slamming the door, going to stand by the window with his arms crossed, staring outside with a grim expression – Taven had hardly dared breathe too loud. 

Nickel hadn’t even turned away from the window when Mr. Roth had come into the room to inform them he’d be taking Serenity back home. His master had only muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and Mr. Roth had patted Taven’s feet through the covers, told him goodbye with a smile, and left. 

“Master?” Taven tried again, and this time Nickel turned to him, his fury seemingly having abated. “It ain’t really Serenity’s fault.”

Nickel scowled at him. “How can you say that? You nearly _died_ because of him.”

Taven scowled back. That wasn’t true. “He didn’t force me to go to the mall, Master,” he protested. “You should hit _me_, not him, ‘cause I knew you’d never allow it, and I went anyway. It was _my_ fault.”

He had expected Nickel to be angry with him, admitting this, but his master only shook his head. “Of course it’s not your fault. Are you telling me this was your idea? No, Taven, I know Serenity. I know the idiotic ideas he gets, and I know how persuasive he can be.”

“That ain’t true,” Taven said, angry his master wasn’t taking his confession seriously. “I mean, yeah, okay, it _was_ his idea, but- but… I know all that. I mean I know what an idiot Serenity can be, and I would’ve never done such a stupid fucking thing with him if- if you hadn’t… I only went ‘cause… ‘Cause you’re gonna get married and you fucking never even told me.”

Nickel stared at him, his eyes slowly widening and his mouth opening. “How did you…? Oh, The Club… I met him in the stairs… That sneaky son of a bitch eavesdropped on me. I’m going to kill him. I am going to _kill_ him.” 

Taven winced. This wasn’t helping Serenity. 

Nickel sighed and his shoulders drooped. He left the window and sat down at Taven’s bedside again, taking his good hand between his own. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, looking sad, “but there really was no reason to. You don’t quite understand. Of course, I would have told you eventually, but the actual marriage is still at least eighteen months into the future, and I didn’t want you to worry already. Nothing will change as far as you’re concerned, neither legally nor personally. This is only an arrangement, you understand. The clan needs an heir, and… When I become Head Lord, I have to be married, but Lady Cecilia and I aren’t in love. It’s an agreement between friends, and it won’t affect your place in the house. Cecilia knows all about you, and is quite all right with things as they are, as she… Well, she has her own life.”

Taven nodded. Serenity had told him the exact same things, and there really was no reason for him to have been so angry and upset, he understood that now. He should have listened to Serenity, should have trusted the much more experienced concubine knew what he was talking about. “Master, Serenity told me all that, but I didn’t listen. I was so fucking stupid; it was my own fault. Don’t blame him!”

Nickel shook his head. “I can’t see how you agreeing to go along would in any way absolve Serenity of the blame. He knew only suggesting such a thing he would be breaking my rules. I will not forgive him, and he will not be allowed to see you again.”

Taven gasped. “What? You’ll never let me see him again?” He should have seen that coming, he really should, but, he hadn’t, and as annoyed and angry as he’d often been with Serenity, being told he was never going to see him again felt like a slap to his face. “Master, no! Please, I…”

“He’s not coming anywhere near you, ever again,” Nickel interrupted, sharpness in his voice. “That’s my final word on the matter, and it will not be discussed further. Do I make myself clear, slave?” 

It was perfectly, devastatingly, clear, but Taven wasn’t prepared to accept it. “It ain’t right,” he said, fighting his tears. “It ain’t fair.”

Nickel sighed, his expression softening. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I know you like him, and I can’t be angry with you for wanting to defend someone you consider a friend, but it’s for your own good. Serenity is a bad person, and I should have realized so a long time ago. I’m sorry, but I’m your master, and I know what’s best for you. You will simply have to trust me on this.”

“He ain’t bad,” Taven protested, determined not to let this go, not until his master completely lost patience with him, at the very least. 

Nickel was not at that stage yet. “I know him better than you do, boy,” he said. “That slave is irredeemable. He was born an irresponsible liar. Serenity is immoral and reckless, and he’ll never change.”

“That ain’t _true_,” Taven argued. 

“Yes it _is_,” Nickel argued back. “And now we _will_ not discuss this further.”

Taven desperately clawed at his master’s sleeve with his good hand. “Master, please just let me say one more thing. Just one thing, and I ain’t gonna open my mouth about it ever again, I swear. Please?”

Nickel hesitated. “All right,” he finally said. “Speak!”

His head was spinning. He knew what he wanted to convey, but he had no idea how to put it in words, and the fact he would have no more chances to change his master’s mind didn’t lessen the pressure. “Master,” he started falteringly. “When you bought me, I wasn’t… I wasn’t a good guy either.”

“Taven…”

“I was fucking shitty, and you know it,” Taven interrupted his master’s oncoming assurances. “And you know why, too. I thought all the old shit was gonna happen again, just like before. I didn’t have any hope at all. Why would I be good? There was no fucking point when there wasn’t any hope. Serenity… It’s kinda like that for him, too. He ain’t got any hope.”

Nickel looked confounded. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he said. “How could Serenity’s life in any way be comparable to yours when I found you? It isn’t.” 

“It ain’t now,” Taven conceded, “but it’s gonna be.” 

Taven took a deep breath. He had promised Serenity not to tell, but so much had changed since, and if only Nickel knew, he’d understand, Taven was sure. He started talking; telling his master everything Serenity had told him about Lord Albert Engel. Taven explained how Serenity had never really cheated on him at all, but that Albert had forced him to sexually serve his friends, and described how the lord meant to lock Serenity away for the rest of his life, starve him, and only letting people come to his cell to abuse him. 

When he finally finished, Nickel was dead silent at his side, showing no reaction to the information he’d been given. Taven squirmed in the bed, waiting for his master to say something. He’d expected all sorts of reactions, but this cold indifference had not been one of them.

“Master?” he tried. Nickel’s weird silence scared him more than the man’s anger. 

Nickel seemed to snap out of it at this, and got up from the bed, looking down at him with a deep frown. “What _is_ this, boy?” he said. “I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life. I told you! Serenity is a _liar_, and obviously, he’s concocted this tall tale only to garner your sympathy. You shouldn’t believe a word he’s saying. Now, as I said, we will not discuss this further, and you shouldn’t worry your head about it. Being upset might be bad for your healing. I’ll see to it you get something calming.” 

With this, his master simply turned and walked out of the room, apparently to find a nurse. 

Taven was left stunned and devastated. His master hadn’t believed him. 

Could Serenity have lied? He really didn’t think so. Serenity had seemed so honest telling him, his fear had seemed so real. If Serenity hadn’t lied, then he’d been right, you _could_ never trust free men to help you, not even the good ones, and if Nickel told Albert about this, then Taven had just condemned his friend to an ever harsher future. 

Taven wanted to cry. Serenity would think he’d ratted him out as revenge for taking him to the mall, no doubt, and his master would never let him see his friend again. Taven would never be able to explain he’d only meant to make things better. 

Serenity was right; he should never have said anything.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel didn’t have to wait long before the door opened at his forceful pounding, but the inhabitant of the house hardly looked happy at the surprise visit. Serenity gasped, eyes widening, and tried to close the door again. Nickel wouldn’t have it. He put his hands up before Serenity had a chance to close it completely and pushed, forcing him back. 

“Don’t you _dare_ close the door in my face, slave!” he yelled as he stomped into the small hallway. 

Serenity backed up against the wall, cowered and raised his arms over his head. 

The frightened move gave Nickel pause. Somewhere deep down he felt bad for losing his temper in the corridor outside Taven’s hospital room the evening before. That same part of him deeply regretted Serenity’s fear of him now, and the marks in his face. He pushed it aside. 

“I won’t hit you again,” he said. “I’m here with your master’s permission. I will take no further liberties with his property.”

Serenity slowly lowered his arms at this, but it didn’t escape Nickel how cautious he still was. “Can I do something for you, Master?” he said, lowering his gaze, crossing his hands before him, hiding behind servile slave manners.

“I doubt that,” Nickel said, likewise hiding behind his curt demeanor. “I only came to inform you, you are not to see Taven again, under _any_ circumstances.”

Serenity’s hands shook. “Yes, Master,” he said. “I… I understand.”

The immediate acceptance deflated Nickel; he’d been prepared for protests. “You’re not going to beg me to reconsider?” he said.

Serenity shook his head. “You’ve made up your mind, I knew the rules.”

“So you did,” Nickel said, but he felt less harsh than he sounded. 

Serenity seemed so dejected. The Engel concubine was always so particular about his looks, yet his hair was unwashed and dull and it looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes in days. Nickel pushed this aside, too. “Well, at least you know not to ask me for forgiveness. I’m not able to give it to you.”

“Master, I… I wouldn’t…”

“I _didn’t_ come here to talk about Taven,” Nickel blurted out, cutting Serenity off. He’d had no idea how to bring this up, or what to say, simply coming out with it seemed the only way.

Serenity looked confused. “I don’t understa…”

“Quiet!” Nickel snapped. “Just be silent and let me… I want to do the right thing, Serenity, but when I think about what you did to Taven… You’re making it so very hard.” He sighed deeply. “Taven told me about Albert.” 

Serenity looked up in shock, tangling both hands in his hair. “No! No, no, no, he promised. He _promised_ not to tell.” He swayed on his feet, all the color drained from his face. “You… You told Master Albert… Oh my God…” Serenity clutched at his stomach, looking like he was about to throw up.

There was no mistaking Serenity’s terror, and if Nickel had really ever doubted Taven’s words, the last vestiges of this doubt now faded away completely. He still reacted with anger. 

“You think I’d do that?” he pressed out. “You really think I’d let that bastard…?” Nickel’s hands fisted at his sides. He felt betrayed and hurt all over again, but for a completely different reason this time. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he yelled. “Why did you let me think that…? Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Serenity flinched at every shouted word. “You… You- you didn’t let me,” he pointed out. “You didn’t want to talk with me, you… You ordered me to stay away.”

“We were close,” Nickel argued. “I was never strict with you. I let you act above your station with me all the time, but when it really mattered, you’re telling me you were too intimidated to come back? You could have insisted on seeing me again, you could have told me. How was I supposed to think anything else than that you _did_ cheat on me, when you didn’t even _try_ to convince me you weren’t?” 

Again, Serenity cowered before him. “I- I beg your pardon, Master,” he said, “but you can be quite a bit more intimidating than you think.” 

Nickel was stunned silent at this, staring at the slave before him. Serenity – beautiful, confident, vivacious and bright… There had been moments, when being with such a man; Nickel had almost forgotten the social rift between them. It was clear to him now Serenity had never for a single second done the same. 

Serenity _was_ only a slave, and he’d been too scared to tell him anything, because Nickel was a lord, just like Albert. “You didn’t trust me,” he said. “Not once.”

“I- I wanted to,” Serenity said. “Master Albert’s been threatening me for years, and I wanted to tell you. If there was anyone I thought might try to help, it was you, but… At first, I just didn’t dare to. There’s friendship between your clans going back centuries. How could I think you’d risk all that for a slave you’d only borrow for a short period of fun, but, you kept seeing me, and you were so good to me, like no one else had ever… It was only, just when I started to think, maybe you’d listen after all, _that_ happened, and… You flat out rejected me. I was scared if I’d told you then, you’d only think I was lying. You’d tell Master Constantine, you’d tell Master Albert… It would have been my word against his, and- and everything would just be so much worse, and…” 

Nickel raised a hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you misjudged me so profoundly,” he said. “There’s no way I’ll let Albert get away with this.”

Again, Serenity looked up in shock. “I… What? Are you… Are you saying you’ll… help me?”

“Yes!” Nickel yelled. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t?” 

“But- but… You’d still… After what I did, you’d still help me?”

Nickel looked away, his hands again fisting at his sides. “Listen, Serenity, what you did… Taven nearly died. I trusted him with you, and you broke all the rules. Make no mistakes about it; I am very, _very_ angry with you. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly be able to forgive you for this, but… What Albert plans is illegal and a clear breech of the concubine contract. You don’t deserve such a destiny, no matter what you’ve done, no one does. I can’t in good conscience let this happen without doing what I can to stop it.”

Serenity gave up a sob. “Master, I… Th- Thank you, I…”

“Quiet!” Nickel said. “Don’t… Don’t thank me! Don’t speak, just be quiet and listen. As long as Constantine is alive, you’ll be safe, so think carefully about what you have done, and, _finally_ act in the manner you’re supposed to. Serve your master faithfully, behave, and refrain from trying to contact me, or anyone around me, again. Is this clear?”

“Y- yes, Master,” Serenity answered.

“However, when he does pass away… Do you still have the phone Constantine lets you use?”

“Yes?” 

“Good! Be very careful with it, do not lose it or break it. If Constantine ever orders you to return it, you will lie to him and tell him you’ve lost it. Take the punishment for your sloppiness, and keep it hidden in a safe place. The minute something happens to Constantine, you will use that phone. Call me, and I’ll come for you!”

Serenity’s eyes filled with grateful tears and he reached his hands out to him, opening his mouth, to, no doubt, thank him again, but Nickel drew back and raised a hand to shut him up.

“Call me, and I’ll come for you,” he repeated. “Until then, I don’t want to see you.” Nickel turned and walked out the door before Serenity had a chance to say another word. 

Even in his anger, it surprised Nickel just how painful it was to close that door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	79. Coming Home

Taven was sitting up in his hospital bed when Roth walked inside, propped up by several pillows, and first he seemed happy to have company, but then he looked disappointed. 

“Ain’t Master with you?” he asked.

“Nope,” Roth grinned and pulled a chair up to the bedside. “And a good thing it is, too, or this wouldn’t have been possible.” Roth produced a chocolate bar from his coat pocket and held it under Taven’s nose. 

Taven cheered right up at the ‘contraband’ and eagerly received it. “Thanks, Mr. Roth,” he grinned, struggling with the wrapper, only having the use of one hand and his teeth.

“Nickel will be here soon,” Roth explained, shrugging his coat off. “I thought I’d come in earlier though, so we could talk.”

Taven looked surprised, and maybe a little worried. “What about?” he asked; mouth full of chocolate. 

“Well, for one thing, Serenity asked me to give you these,” he started, and fished up the small zip bag with Taven’s earrings from his pants pocket. 

“Oh,” Taven said. He shortly put down the half-eaten bar to receive the bag, but only looked at the contents for a few seconds before placing it on the nightstand and reaching for the chocolate again. “Master will have to put them back in for me later. I can’t do it with one hand. Didn’t Serenity say anything else?”

“He did,” Roth answered. “He wanted me to tell you how sorry he is about the whole thing.”

Taven let his good hand sink. “I ain’t angry with him or anything,” he said. “It was my own fault. I didn’t have to go with him. He was just fucking nuts, like he always is, ain’t his fault I agreed.”

Roth nodded. “I know,” he said. 

“Master blames him for fucking _everything_.”

Roth sighed. “I’ve noticed that, too. I think, perhaps Swift died a bit too sudden. Your master is still very angry, but doesn’t quite know where to direct that anger now. Serenity has to bear the brunt of it, I guess. Nickel will come around, eventually, I’m sure.”

Taven shook his head. “No he won’t. He’s forbidden us to see each other, ever again, and he wouldn’t listen to me.” There was no mistaking the boy’s bitterness at this. 

“I’m sorry, Taven. Maybe he’ll change his mind in the future.”

Taven frowned, and kept shaking his head. “You could help us,” he said, giving Roth an imploring look. “You always know where Master is. You- you could bring Serenity here,” he suggested, eagerness in his whole demeanor. “I mean, when you know Master’s not gonna be here. Please, I wanna see him one more time. Just one more time, so I can tell him I ain’t angry.”

Roth shook his head. “I’m sorry, boy, I can’t do that. Smuggling chocolate is one thing, but I can’t undermine your master’s authority in such a blatant way. You understand, don’t you?”

Taven looked disappointed, to say the least, but it seemed he did understand. “I guess you can’t,” he said. 

Roth patted Taven’s thigh through the covers in comfort. “I could probably try to contact him on my free time,” he said. “Nickel doesn’t need to know, and I’ll let him know you’re not angry with him. I have a feeling he’ll be relieved to hear it.”

Taven pushed the last of the chocolate into his mouth. “You’d do that?” he said. “Thanks, Mr. Roth. Thank you so much.” He silenced and dried at his mouth, crumpling the chocolate bar wrapper in his hand. “Thanks for, like… everything.”

Roth smiled and patted him again, but the smile soon enough died down. “There was something else I wanted to bring up with you,” he said. He looked away from the worry that returned in the boy’s eyes. This would _not_ be easy. “Swift, he… Swift took photos,” he carefully started, glancing back at Taven.

Taven looked as if he’d stopped breathing and his eyes turned glassy, seemingly looking straight through him. “How… How do you know?” he gasped. 

“One of the police officers who found you, the younger one, he got them from the apartment, the day I shot Swift. He was about to take them to the police station, but I talked him into giving them to me instead.”

“You saw them?” Taven asked.

Roth hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. How could he lie? 

It was like opening a sluice. Taven broke down crying. He hid his face behind the cast of his damaged hand and wept uninhibitedly, like a small child, his shoulders shaking.

Roth looked away. He had no idea how to handle this, and felt completely useless. Maybe, like with Silas, doing as little as possible and just stay at the boy’s side might be the best he could do anyway. 

“He- he just kept taking them,” Taven managed through his weeping. “He forced me to look.” He hunched over in the bed and looked like he tried to crawl inside himself. “I’m so fucking disgusting,” he yelled. “Why’d you look?” 

“Oh my God, Taven, you’re not…” Roth reached out a hand, but pulled it back again. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to touch Taven right now. “It’s fucking sick and disgusting to _take_ such photos,” he said, hardly able to contain his rage. “That doesn’t mean _you_ are disgusting.”

Taven didn’t seem to have heard him. “He- he said he’d jerk off to them when he’d killed me,” he cried. “He’d cut me up and fucking come all over those damn fucking photos…”

Roth didn’t know what to say. He was so angry he wished he could make Swift come to life again, only so he could shoot him in the head a second time. Well, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even find one damn word to comfort the poor thing. Roth just sat there, until Taven seemed to have exhausted himself and stopped crying on his own. 

He leaned back, and stared in front of him again with the same glassy-eyed expression, sniveling. “Mr. Roth,” he said. “Did Master…? You showed them to him, too?” There was no mistaking Taven’s fear at this possibility.

Not until now did Roth dare put a comforting hand on Taven’s arm. “No,” he assured the boy. “I couldn’t show Nickel that. Listen, Taven, I just wanted to tell you they’re gone. That police officer is the only one who’s seen them, and believe me, he won’t tell anyone. When he gave them to me he did something he wasn’t really allowed to do, so, he can’t tell because then he’ll incriminate himself, and the photos don’t exist anymore. I burned them. I gave them a quick glance once, yes, I had to make sure what they were, but then I burned them. They’re ashes, and no one will ever know. They’ll be a secret, between you and me only, okay?”

Finally, Taven looked at him, and then, to Roth’s utter surprise, he leaned over and threw his arms around his neck, hugging him. Roth snapped out of his stupor and carefully hugged the boy back. It shocked him how small and fragile Taven felt in his arms, hardly bigger than Silas. 

Taven pressed his wet face into his neck. “Thank you, Mr. Roth,” he said. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, boy,” Roth answered, rubbing the thin back. “You’re welcome.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel finally gave in to Taven’s begging to go home. Early in the morning, a week after Taven had been found, he signed the release forms. There was no mistaking the boy’s relief at being told, declaring he couldn’t wait to get out of ‘this fucking hospital bed’.

He had only smiled at Taven’s swearing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Taven to come home, foul mouth and all – his bed was so empty at night – but he’d been worried the boy wouldn’t have the correct aftercare outside the hospital. Taven’s doctor had finally managed to convince him the boy would be fine, and better off, too. Getting up and moving about as soon as possible could only be good for Taven, he’d explained, but the hospital wasn’t the place, not for a slave. Hospital policy declared he was to be confined to his bed, under threat of being chained to it, and his possible level of boredom wasn’t taken into consideration. 

Nickel knew it wasn’t the only reason Taven was desperate to be allowed back to the mansion. He had been forced to inform the night staff about the boy’s problems, and had paid them extra to keep an eye on it. Nickel didn’t want Taven to sleepwalk with a broken hip, or be left alone if he had one of his night terror episodes. He’d paid them extra again to change Taven’s sheets and not scold him for wetting them. As far as he knew the night staff had handled things well, encouraged by his thick wallet no doubt, but it didn’t make Taven less vulnerable at having such sensitive matters exposed to strangers. 

Packing the few things he’d brought Taven during the week, and helping him get into some clothes, Nickel pushed all worries aside and shared in the boy’s joy at the prospect of going home. 

God, Nickel had missed him at his side.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel noticed right away, driving the car up the avenue, nearing the house, something weird was going on.

Normally, either Bruno, or Jonas, came running when they heard the car, but not the both of them at the same time, and they were definitely never joined by an entire little crowd of house slaves.

Nickel parked and looked out the windshield at them all in worry. Had something happened? He told Taven to remain, while he stepped out. As he saw Ada among them, he rounded the car, took her by the arm and walked her away from the others. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Please forgive us, Master,” she said, anxious in his grip. “We only wanted to welcome Taven home. He- he _is_ welcome home again, Master, isn’t he?”

Nickel looked at the aging maid and saw the worry in her eyes, and then he looked back to the others, humbly standing there with their heads down, hands clasped in front of them, waiting. They cared about Taven and wanted to welcome him home? When had this happened, and how had he missed it? 

His heart swelled. “Of course he’s welcome home,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He smiled and let go of Ada’s arm, gently pushing her back toward the others. “Make him feel it, too!” 

“Yes, Master,” Ada answered, smiling as she hurried back, passing along the order to the ones who might not have heard. 

Nickel was right on her heels, going back to the car to open the door at the passenger side. He helped Taven get out, and gave him the crutch, making sure the boy was steady on his feet before stepping aside.

Taven stared at the crowd and then looked back at him. “What…?” he started, confusion written all over his face. 

“They want to welcome you home,” Nickel explained. He nodded to the others and gestured for them to come forward.

Nickel looked on as they surrounded Taven and shyly patted his shoulders, took him by the arms to support him, murmuring welcomes and well wishes. He couldn’t help grinning at them, amused by their awkward and subdued manners. Ada seemed most in affect at seeing Taven again, she stroke him over the head and kissed his unharmed cheek several times, her eyes shiny with tears. Nickel felt the lump in his throat returning, seeing Taven’s astounded expression slowly turn to happiness. 

Jonas stayed in the background, together with Bruno, who no doubt had warned him not to join the rest, but if that was the case, it seemed he couldn’t contain himself for long. Jonas’ gangly frame suddenly pushed past the house slaves, and he threw his long arms around Taven, sobbing loudly in his ear. “I- I thought you were gone,” he cried. “I thought you were sold, or- or _dead_ and you were never gonna come back and…”

Bruno might have seen their master’s frown. The chauffeur went for his ward, got hold of Jonas’ arm and forcefully tore him away from Taven. Jonas might have finally understood, as well, that he’d possibly gone too far. He hunched low and hid behind Bruno’s back. It was painfully obvious both Bruno and Jonas now feared the consequences of this single hug. 

Nickel felt uneasy. Was he really that much of a tyrant?

\-----o0o-----

Taven was gobsmacked when the small crowd surrounded him to welcome him home, amazed at their smiles and their friendly hands, patting his shoulders, supporting him. Surprised there were so many of them. Sarah smiled at him and said she was glad he was back. Did she really not think he was an asshole anymore? Even Bruno was there. They were _all_ happy he was back, not only Ada?

Then Jonas elbowed his way through the crowd and threw his arms around him. Taven instinctively hugged him back with his free arm and melted into his friend’s much taller body, inhaling the familiar smell of motor oil. Jonas sobbed in his ear, and Taven wanted to cry, too, he’d missed him so fucking much. 

The moment wasn’t allowed to last. Someone pulled Jonas off him, and Nickel stepped in. Frowning, he shooed the others away, ordering them back to work. Taven was walked inside through the main entry and up the stairs to his master’s bedroom, Nickel supporting him all the way, half-carrying him the last steps when his hip started to give out on him. 

Taven would have much rather gone to his own room, but it didn’t seem a good time to protest. Something had turned his master’s mood sour, and it was no mystery what it was.

His master got him out of his outerwear and shoes, gently helping him onto the large bed, and Taven leaned back against the pillows. His hip ached, and only going up the stairs, he felt completely knackered, but above all, he was uneasy.

Nickel had turned from him to remove his own coat, putting some things from his pockets onto the nightstand, and he wasn’t talking. Taven swallowed hard, recalling the moment in the front yard when Jonas had thrown his arms around him. 

It was as if he could still feel the warmth of the hug, and the smell of Jonas’ shirt, and there hadn’t been a day back there in the hospital he hadn’t missed his friend. Taven had still refrained from asking his master about him. 

First, his master had been so happy he’d been found, and Taven had wanted to give Nickel, and Mr. Roth, all his grateful attention. They had looked for him; they had wanted him back. Then, just like that, his master had tore Serenity out of his life, with no hope of ever seeing him again, and the mere thought of losing Jonas, as well… He hadn’t mentioned the garage slave, and kept his longing to himself. 

“Master?” he tried carefully, and Nickel turned to him, the man’s eyebrows still drawn together in a frown. 

“He didn’t mean anything,” Taven hurried to say. “It… That wasn’t… It was just a hug, only ‘cause he was happy I was back. It wasn’t… He didn’t mean it like _that_. He didn’t mean to break any rules.”

Nickel frowned deeper, but then his expression softened. “Oh, I know,” he said. 

“So… You ain’t gonna…. I- I can still see him, can’t I?”

His master sighed and came to sit at his bedside. “Taven, listen to me. I never intended to isolate you from people who obviously care about you. I told you, Serenity went too far. As long as Jonas isn’t equally disregarding of my orders, and your safety, I have no reason to cut you off from him.” He gave Taven a reassuring smile and caressed him over the head. 

Taven nodded, immensely relieved. Jonas would never go too far, not again, he would never dare. “Thank you, Master,” he said, grateful to the core of his being, but then it struck him. “Master… Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” Nickel answered, ceasing his stroking motion. 

Disappointment washed over him when he recalled what Jonas had actually said, hugging him and sobbing in his ear. Taven couldn’t help the accusatory tone. “You never told Jonas what happened? You never said one word to _anyone_ about where I was? He- he thought you’d gotten rid of me, that I was dead even.” Taven pulled himself up in a sitting position with some effort. It was his turn to frown now. “He thought I was _dead_. Weren’t you ever gonna tell him a word?” 

It hurt realizing all this time Jonas had had no idea, and if he’d never come back, his friend might have lived the rest of his life not knowing. 

Nickel looked away. “It… It isn’t… Speaking with the workers about my personal life, Taven, that’s not appropriate, and…”

“Not ap- appre…?” Taven interrupted. Fuck that shit. He wasn’t only _Nickel’s_ ‘personal life’, he was Jonas’ too. “That- that… That ain’t right. That’s fucking mean.”

Taven had always thought his master ‘weird’, even said so to his face a few times, but he’d meant it in a good way. Nickel had seemed to him, to be so very unusual, like no other free person he’d ever met. His master had always been so kind and caring, so patient and understanding, putting up with so many problems with his troublesome slave. Yet, he couldn’t take one measly minute to explain to Jonas his friend was still alive and would soon come back? 

Maybe Nickel wasn’t so different from most free men, after all. Yes, Taven thought, maybe it wasn’t Nickel who was the unusual master, but _he_ who was the unusual slave. Nickel treated him this well because he was a treasured personal belonging, a rare exotic piece, in spite of his damages, but the other slaves… They were just walking and talking tools to him, weren’t they? 

“Jonas and me,” Taven murmured. “We ain’t two different kinds of animals, you know. He- he has feelings, too.”

Nickel was silent for the longest time, still not looking at him. “I’m aware of that, boy,” he finally said. “I do realize he must have been worried about you, but… You don’t quite understand. It’s not that I believe they aren’t capable of feelings. It’s… I’m the _master_ of this house. It demands certain demeanor on my part, and I cannot appear as weak and unstable to the household. It’s different with you. It’s to be expected a personal slave will see many different sides to their owners, but most of those sides aren’t for the workers’ eyes. When I thought you were lost to me, when I saw how badly hurt you were… If I had spoken to Jonas about you, I wouldn’t have been able to keep it together. I couldn’t let him see me like that.”

He silenced again. “Don’t think me cruel, Taven,” he added, his tone almost pleading.

Taven looked at his master, and thought he actually understood what he was telling him. Slaves were forced to act in certain ways, but in a way so was a lord. There was like a huge invisible wall between the slaves of the mansion and their master. Nickel hadn’t put it there, but neither could he take it down. He could shout orders over this wall, but could never whisper in confidence through it. 

“I don’t,” he said, but doubted still. “Master, you- you wouldn’t… Like, you wouldn’t let anyone just take the kids here and fuck them, right?”

“What?” Nickel said. For a second there was a twisted smile on his lips, as if the question was so unexpected and bizarre he didn’t know if to frown or laugh, but it died out at Taven’s serious expression. “Where on earth did this come from?” he asked. 

“I just need to know, Master,” Taven insisted. “Like, I know you’d never just lend _me_ out, or something, but the others… You _would_ never hand out any of the kids to be fucked, right?”

“Goodness gracious, boy! No! No, Taven, I would never do that. I promise, as long as I’m the master of this house, no child in my care will ever come to harm if it’s at all in my power to stop it. Do you believe me?”

Taven stared into his master’s eyes, looking for any sign of dishonesty. He didn’t find it. Maybe Nickel wasn’t _as_ unusual as he’d once thought, but the man still was his ‘weird master’, and he should have never doubted it.

He nodded. “I believe you, Master.”

\-----o0o-----

As usual, Taven was already awake when Nickel roused from sleep the morning after, but this time he didn’t catch the boy looking at him. Taven was staring up into the canopy, and had obviously not noticed he’d woken up, as well. Nickel took advantage of the moment and watched the boy.

Everything seemed so normal. Taven had the covers pulled up to his chin, and only the unharmed side of his face was showing. You couldn’t see how badly injured he was, and the night had been blissfully quiet. 

“Good morning,” he finally said, making Taven jerk. Nickel smiled. “You’ve slept like a baby, all through the night.”

Taven smiled a little in return. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s ‘cause it’s good to be back.”

Nickel scooted over and put an arm over Taven’s chest. “It’s good to have you back,” he answered, nuzzling his face into the boy’s neck.

Taven sighed and seemed to relax, turning to snuggle close, and Nickel hugged him as hard as he dared, cautious of hurting the battered body. Oh, how he’d missed this, how he had longed for the warmth, the smell of Taven’s skin, the soft hair against his cheek. It made him happy Taven had missed the closeness, too. He gently turned up the boy’s head with a finger under his chin and started to nibble at his lips, but that’s when Taven stopped responding, turning tense and stiff in his arms.

Nickel pulled away a few inches. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

Taven seemed ashamed, somehow, again turning his head away, not looking him in the eyes. “Nothing,” he was fast to claim. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“You didn’t believe we would…? You do understand sex is out of the question for the time being, don’t you?” Nickel said. “I wouldn’t… Not until you’re fully healed and aren’t hurting anywhere. I didn’t kiss you because I wanted sex; I only wanted to be close to you.”

Taven turned red. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Go on, Master!” He turned his head back, closed his eyes and parted his lips in a pathetic imitation of an invite. Not even the covers could hide how he was shivering.

Nickel startled. It had been quite some time since last he’d felt this uneasy having the boy in his bed, and it was all the more awkward, and hurtful, for it being so unexpected. In the same moment, he berated himself for feeling this way. After everything Taven had been through, things would of course not go back to normal so soon. 

All Taven needed was some time. 

He carefully reached out a hand to caress Taven over the head. “It’s all right, boy,” he said. “If you’re not feeling well, we don’t have to be close in that way.”

Taven opened his eyes and looked at him in obvious worry. “You ain’t angry?” he asked.

Nickel smiled. “Of course not,” he promised.

Taven gave him a tentative smile. “Thank you, Master,” he said, but he didn’t return to his arms, only pulled up the covers farther, and went back to staring up into the canopy.


	80. As One Thing Crumbles…

Taven was sitting in the large upholstered armchair under the window in his master’s bedroom, looking out over a portion of the snowy gardens. He was alone.

Nickel had seen to it he was comfortable in the chair, a soft pillow at his back, his crutch left in his reach, and had given him strict instructions on how many pills he could take from the box of painkillers on the side table, before declaring he’d be going into the city with Mr. Roth. He would be gone all morning, but Eve would be close by in case he needed help with anything. All he had to do was to call out for her. 

He had felt bad. Nickel hadn’t been able to hide how low he was, and Taven felt particularly undeserving of the care after behaving so badly in bed earlier. Then, his master had halted on the threshold, giving him a forced smile, and told him, in the afternoon, he would bring Jonas upstairs to see him. 

Nickel had left before Taven had a chance to thank him, but the exhilaration at the prospect of getting to see his friend had soon been dampened with the same all-consuming shame he’d been trapped in all morning. 

Taven felt like the biggest asshole. His master had been nothing but kind to him, and yet he’d kept doubting the man, and being angry with him. He’d been so fucking fast to believe Swift’s lies, when in reality his master had neglected sleep and food only to look for him. Taven had accused him of cruelty when the man had spent thousands to have him treated, and would bring a worker into his own bedroom only so his slave could have a friend to speak with. 

In return for all this, Taven had one job to do. _One_. Yet he’d failed spectacularly at this very thing. Nickel hadn’t even demanded actual sex – which was reasonable, really, considering his broken hip and torn asshole – but had only desired a simple kiss. Not even this had Taven been able to provide. 

He was so fucking worthless. 

Taven had wanted to provide, and he had tried, really, he had, but he just hadn’t been able to hide the fear that had gripped him. Nickel had immediately sensed something was wrong, and hadn’t pushed it, telling him it was all right. His master was, and had always been, very nice that way, damn him. It didn’t make it easier at all, only made him feel like an even bigger asshole. 

He had _one_ job. 

Taven didn’t understand what his fucking problem was. Nickel hadn’t changed since last his master had kissed him. The man was still looking the same, fucking hot, as Serenity would have put it. His lips were still as soft, and he still smelled as nice. Nickel’s careful embraces had felt as safe as before, too. When the slim but strong arms had curled around him, pulling him in, shielding him from the world of horrors out there, it had felt like coming home, for real, and still... As soon as he felt Nickel’s heart beat just that little bit faster, fear had cramped his own heart, and the safe and familiar embrace transformed into every pair of hands that had ever harshly held him down to fuck him until he screamed. 

It had always been hard to keep that kind of fear at bay, by all means, but he’d managed. The safety and sense of value he’d received in return had been well worth the difficulties to keep it under control. Now, it was as if he’d lost the ability completely. If Nickel hadn’t backed off when he did, Taven thought he might have simply panicked. At a simple kiss. The one thing he’d always enjoyed for his own sake, and never felt bad about before. What the hell would it be like when he’d healed and his master wanted more than a kiss? 

He wanted to cry. 

What possible use could his master have for him if he didn’t soon get over this? Shame washed over him again. He must give his master what he needed and wanted, it was the only reason he was allowed the flimsy identity he was clinging to. If he couldn’t even make the man happy with a simple kiss, what right did he have being ‘a Taven’ in this house? The Head Lord would take his name back in a second if told, and cross it out on his contract right in front of him.

For a moment, he felt it might have been best, for Nickel and himself both, if he’d never broken the pipe back there in that apartment in the South End, and had simply let Swift do him in.

\-----o0o-----

Here they were again, parked outside this cursed building.

Roth had to admit to himself he’d been nervous going back to a place where he’d actually killed someone, and now that he was here, yeah, he would have rather not come, but he would be all right. He didn’t know what Nickel felt. His boss hadn’t spoken of it on the way out, but he looked hard set and determined. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Roth asked.

Nickel nodded. “Yes,” he said. 

They got out of the car and stepped inside the apartment building. Oh God, Roth thought, there were bloodstains on the floor. It had been more than a week; didn’t anyone clean these fucking stairs? Nickel might have been prepared; he’d been inside once before, after all. He swallowed hard, didn’t look down and speedily went up the stairs. Roth followed. 

Roth had done the research, and Nickel soon found the right door, ringing the bell. It took a while, but it finally opened into a small crack, held in place by a security chain. 

A worried, watery, eye peeked out at them. “Yes?” said a creaky old voice. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you Ma’am,” Nickel said. “A little more than a week ago you found an injured slave boy in these stairs?”

“…yes?” came the careful, and now suspicious, answer.

“I’m Lord Nickel Wren, and this is my bodyguard, Mr. Roth.” Roth nodded a greeting to her over Nickel’s shoulder. “I’m the rightful owner of that boy,” Nickel continued. “He’d been stolen, and only thanks to you calling the police, I had my valued favorite back. I wanted to thank you, in person.”

The door speedily closed, the chain rattled, and then it opened again, fully this time, a tiny bent woman, looking to be at least in her late eighties, beaming on the threshold. Roth grinned. Nickel introducing himself as an aristocrat might have been the magic word, his appearance and accent probably convincing the old woman he was telling the truth, too. 

“Oh,” she said. “Your lordship, I- I couldn’t possibly… My apartment is not- not…” She looked like she couldn’t decide if to keel over with excitement, or die mortified that a lord might witness the insides of her poor home. 

“It’s all right, Ma’am,” Nickel said. “We wouldn’t want to impose, and will be on our way in a minute. I would only like to offer you my most heartfelt thanks.”

“Oh, the poor thing.” The woman wrought her hands, her old watery eyes turning wetter. “If I had known he was a lord’s favorite… I thought- thought… I felt so bad for the unfortunate soul. There’s really nothing to thank me for, your lordship. I did so little. What could an old woman like me do?” 

His boss opened his mouth as if to protest, but she forestalled him. “I heard him,” she said. “The walls are thin as paper and I heard him scream and cry in there. Hearing that poor boy I couldn’t sleep all night, but what could I do? In these parts, you never meddle, if you know what’s good for you. I’m so sorry.”

Nickel seemed to somewhat lose his composure, hearing this. Roth could feel him tremble, standing shoulder to shoulder with his boss on the cramped landing outside the old woman’s apartment door. He didn’t answer her. 

“We understand, Ma’am,” Roth cut in. “We know what these parts are like. You did right not confronting the thief. He was a very dangerous man.”

Nickel seemed to get a grip of himself again, nodding to Roth’s words. “You did the right thing calling the police instead,” he agreed.

The old woman kept wringing her hands. “The police don’t come at such complaints,” she said. “’Go tell them to keep it down, if it bothers you’, is what they tell you. I told them he was dead. The police I mean, I told them the slave was dead. _Then_ they come. I- I didn’t know if they would… Only thought anything would be better than… To think he’d been stolen from a lord, I would have never thought. I’m so glad to hear you got him back. Is the sweet little thing all right?” 

Nickel swallowed hard. “Yes, he’ll be all right. Well, we won’t take up any more of your time, Ma’am. I only wanted to give you this as a token of our gratitude.” Nickel took a slip of paper out of his coat pocket and gave it to her.”

The old woman smiled, peering at the paper in her hands with squinting eyes. “Oh, it’s so kind of your lordship to come all the way down here only to give an old woman a thank you card,” she said, holding it to her chest as if to show how much she valued the gesture. “I beg your pardon; I don’t have my glasses on me. I’ll read it later.” She stuffed the ‘card’ in the pocket of her knitted cardigan.”

Nickel gave a small smile in return, wished her a good day, and made a move as if to leave, but halted the motion and turned back to her before she had a chance to close the door fully. “You should move out of these parts, Ma’am,” he said. “This is no place for you.”

The old woman smiled back in the manner of an old person, wise with years, who knew the young one in front of them had no idea what they were saying. Roth got the feeling that if she had been able to reach, and Nickel hadn’t been a lord, she would have patted his head. “It would be very nice, your lordship,” she conceded, “but it’s not something I could afford.”

“Oh,” Nickel said. “One never knows, one of these days, maybe you could.”

She kept smiling and shaking her head, probably convinced by now the young lord was as naïve as he was blue-blooded. “Thank you for sparing an old woman a thought,” she said, closing the door.

\-----o0o-----

Roth couldn’t help his chuckle as they crossed the street for their parked car. “I hope she won’t have a heart attack or something, when she gets her glasses and realizes that wasn’t a ‘thank you card’, but a big fat check,” he said. 

Nickel smiled. “I hope she’ll use the money to put down a deposit for an apartment in a better neighborhood than this, and hire a moving company with the rest.”

Roth nodded while he got into the car and Nickel walked over to the passenger side. “Well, you did what you could for her,” he said. He hesitated. “Though is it really a good idea to give away money like this, I mean, if your dad finds out...”

Nickel only snorted at that, closing the car door and reaching for the seatbelt. “It’s not as if the clan can’t afford it,” he said.

“I’m sure it can, but I have a feeling that’s not how your father sees it,” Roth remarked, thinking he had much more than a feeling. 

This time, Nickel had told his father what had happened, which had resulted in the Wren clan’s Head Lord making him a not too unexpected call the other day. Lord Wren Senior _had_ spent a large part of their mostly one-sided conversation thanking Roth, from the bottom of his heart, for saving his son from Swift, the old man practically being in tears only talking about what could have happened. Of course, the old man had also scolded him for not stopping Nickel from running off on his own in the first place, which had eventually turned into a long rant about how none of this would have happened had Nickel never bought that cursed redhead, which meandered into a virtual lament over the size of the hospital bills. The way he’d gone on about it, you’d think Taven’s treatment would send the whole clan to the poorhouse. 

Nickel only smiled wryly. “You know, when Taven and I were small,” he said, while Roth drove down the street. “We were always excited to go with father into the city, because once in a while he would take us to this big old candy store, and we’d get some money to buy sweets for. Taven loved sweets, never had enough of it, always nagged father for more. Father wouldn’t hear of it, we got a certain amount, and that was that, but Taven couldn’t accept it.” Nickel grinned at the memory. “He’d say: ‘But father, we can buy more candy, we’re rich.’ and then father would say: ‘If we always bought more candy, we wouldn’t be rich anymore, would we?’” Nickel sighed. “I know that’s not how father sees it, but some things are more important than money, and, deep down, he knows that, too.” 

Roth nodded. He suspected the old man would spend his entire fortune on sweets now, if only it could bring back his youngest son. He shook the sad thought. “You know what I find the most surprising with that?” he said instead. 

Nickel shook his head with a puzzled expression.

“That once, you actually ate candy. I’d thought for sure you’d be this precocious little health guru kid.”

Nickel laughed.

\-----o0o-----

Taven stared at Jonas, standing inside Nickel’s bedroom door.

It wasn’t that he’d doubted his master would keep his promise, but the sight of a worker in these rooms was still so strange, stranger than in the classroom, by leaps. 

Taven sat fully dressed on the bed, propped up by a few large pillows, watching Nickel urging Jonas a few steps farther into the room with a hand on his back. It was clear Jonas found the situation ever as strange and awkward, hunching in on himself as if he was afraid he’d accidentally touch something, his eyes glued to the floor. 

“You have an hour,” their master told them. “Don’t tire him out,” he admonished Jonas, and left, closing his bedroom door behind him. 

For several seconds none of them spoke, or moved. “Ain’t you even gonna look up?” Taven finally said. 

Jonas did, slowly looking about the room with widening eyes. “Wow,” he said. 

“It’s just a bunch of old crap,” Taven said, trying to make Jonas less uncomfortable. “You’re gonna come sit down, or what?”

Jonas walked up to Taven’s bedside with hesitating steps. “Where? What? Oh, on…? On the bed? No way! I’m not sitting down on this bed, not in these clothes, not… No way!”

“Oh, who the fuck cares if the sheets get dirty,” Taven said. “It’s me who cleans them anyway.”

Jonas looked surprised. “_You_ do work like that?”

Taven looked down at his leg and lifted his injured hand in the air. “Yeah, well, not right now, but… Okay, I don’t do a lot of work like that, but master thought I should at least do some, so, it’s me who cleans his sheets.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, not looking less uncomfortable than before. “I’ll just sit down here,” he finally said, and sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside the bed before Taven had a chance to protest. Jonas looked up at him. “What’s wrong with your hand and leg?” he asked, looking worried. 

“Broken,” Taven said, trying to sound indifferent. “In like a hundred places. Hurt like fucking hell. They had to cut me open and put in a lot of steel rods and plates and shit, both in my hip and my hand, only to keep all the pieces together.”

Jonas’ eyes widened again. “Wh- what happened? Did master…?”

“No!” Taven interrupted with a scowl. “He’d never do that. He’d never hurt me like this.”

Jonas turned red. “No, of course he wouldn’t. I- I didn’t mean that, I…”

“I fell down the stairs,” Taven said. 

Jonas looked both confused and suspicious now. “Here, in the house? And- and you cut your cheek bone, in the stairs?”

For a moment, Taven was angry. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to talk about this, and Jonas was usually never this pushy. He was used to Jonas backing off at the smallest sign of him being evasive, and he was definitely not used to his friend showing so openly he didn’t believe what he was saying. Some part of him wanted to tell Jonas to mind his own fucking business and talk of something else, but… 

Taven looked away. That wouldn’t be right, would it? He’d accused his master of cruelty for not informing Jonas, and here he was himself, giving half-assed answers to questions that weren’t nosy as much as asked in deep worry. It struck him friendship meant Jonas had, in fact, a right to know exactly what had happened, and if he didn’t tell, the garage slave would remain convinced their master had done all this. That wasn’t fair to Nickel either. 

He sighed; he had to tell Jonas everything. It was only he didn’t know how, or where to even start. His current injuries were only the culmination of a lifetime of shit, after all, and it wasn’t easy to find all the words. It wasn’t easy to quell the fears of revealing his life story either. Even now, Jonas looked at him with such admiration, thinking his friend was this high-class exotic favorite, worthy of concubinage. What would he think when he realized he was really only a washed up damaged whore from the slums? Taven remembered how important his master thought it was to look good to others, always keeping up appearance in front the household. How badly would it reflect on Nickel to reveal what his personal slave really was? 

Jonas might have misinterpreted his hesitation, and his turning his head away. 

“It- it’s not a bad cut,” he tried. “I mean, it’s not stitched in a way it pulls very much at your skin, or anything. You’re still… You’re not less good-looking, not at all,” he assured Taven.

Taven almost laughed. The wound looked awful and Jonas really didn’t need to spare his feelings. It was a three inches long slash, right in his face, edges still red and puffy, with black thread sticking out like unusually coarse and unseemly hairs. How could it be anything else than hideous? It would leave a scar too that Taven desperately hoped wouldn’t be as raised and purple as some marring his chest and shoulders. At the same time, what did another scar matter? His master hadn’t even mentioned the state of his face with a word. 

He turned his head back and managed a wry smile. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It really doesn’t. I have lots of them. Master’s used to it. And no, it wasn’t him,” Taven added, at his friend’s ever widening eyes and worried expression. “It was the master before him.”

Taven didn’t know how, but suddenly he was talking. In fact, the words poured out of him, coming out in such a shamble he constantly had to stop himself and start over, but he was doing it. He was telling his friend everything. From the day he’d been taken to his first master, being told all the way what a mistake he was, until that day when a strange young lord had disregarded being both yelled at and spit in the face, and had taken him home. 

He didn’t try to hide the hell he’d been through in between, either, telling Jonas details he’d never even told his master, finally ending with describing the kidnapping. 

“So,” he said. “That’s what happened. Master didn’t do anything bad; he looked for me, and paid for the treatment and all. It was all Swift and I did fall down some stairs, and… Yeah…” 

He leaned back into the pillows, strangely tired, talked out. He felt lightheaded but relieved, so relieved at the moment he wasn’t even scared what Jonas might think.

Taven didn’t snap out of it until he heard a strange choked sound beside him. He rose up on his elbow and looked over the edge of the bed. Jonas had pulled his long legs up against his chest, hugging them, and his face was hidden between his knees. 

He was crying.

“J- Jonas?” Taven tried, not understanding what he had done, and unsure about what to say, or do.

“I can’t hug you,” Jonas cried. “They did all that to you, and- and I’m not even allowed to hold you.”

It was no easy feat to get out of the bed and down on the floor with his broken hip, but Taven ignored the pain. He slid up against Jonas and put his arms around him. “I say you can,” he told Jonas. “And he can punish _me_ for that, ‘cause _I_ say you can.”

Jonas hugged him back.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel slowly put the drinking glass down on the drawer beside him with a sinking feeling. It had been longer than an hour, but he hadn’t been able to move away from the wall to interrupt Taven, and tell Jonas the time was up and he had to leave. 

He had remained outside his bedroom at first, with the ear to his door, but soon realized he wouldn’t hear what was being said very well that way. Instead, he’d walked inside the vacant bedroom next to his, and grabbed a dusty glass from its bathroom sink. Remembering a trick from his boyhood years he’d put the glass to the wall, and as his bed was just on the other side, he could clearly hear every word Taven and Jonas was saying. 

Yes, he did feel foolish, where he stood with his ear to the glass like a child playing a game of espionage. However, you couldn’t really say a master was eavesdropping on his own slaves. After all, he had a right to know what his own property was up to, and any privacy a slave might have was graciously given them, not a right they could demand. In fact, Nickel could have stayed in there, with them, if he’d wanted to, but then he wouldn’t get to know just how close Taven and Jonas really were. Well, now he knew.

It hurt.

\-----o0o-----

Roth munched on his breakfast sandwiches with a healthy appetite, grinning to himself between the bites. He’d had a very nice night, and hadn’t been in such a good mood in weeks. 

Yesterday, after visiting the old woman down at the South End, Roth had returned home to call Evelyn and invite her over for dinner. Waiting for her to come over had not been as filled with pleasant anticipation as it usually was, though. To be honest, Roth had been pretty damn nervous while he prepared dinner and set the table with Silas’ help. 

Dinner wasn’t the main reason for inviting her. Roth had decided it was time to tell Evelyn he’d been forced to shoot someone, as well as explain everything leading up to that moment. As much as Roth would rather only show her sides of himself he hoped would impress her, Evelyn had a right to know what kind of person she was involved with, and what his job could actually entail. There were risks and she should be aware of them. If they stayed involved with each other, those risks would affect her as well. 

_If_ they stayed involved, yes, that’s what had worried him. Roth hadn’t really thought Evelyn would blame him for the shooting. If he explained the circumstances, she would surely understand he’d had no other choice, but understanding wouldn’t necessarily mean she would be all right with it. Roth had been seriously afraid the dinner would end with Evelyn breaking up with him. 

Not telling her had not seemed an option though. Roth and his ex wife had rarely been honest or open with each other and look where it had led them. Roth didn’t intend to repeat that mistake. 

Roth had told her the whole story. From the day Nickel and he had gone to the slave market, to that shot fired in a rundown South End street. He’d left out details he thought would be too sensitive for Nickel and Taven to share, but had hardly spared himself. It was still a long enough story. He remembered talking and talking, but had no recollection of how the food had been. Maybe he’d just been _that_ nervous, or maybe he’d forgotten to eat while the time passed and he continued to talk.

Evelyn had called him a hero. 

Roth had expected many things, but being declared a hero wasn’t one of them. He definitely hadn’t expected the sultriness in her voice, and the shine in her eyes.

He wasn’t a man to engage in false modesty. Roth was aware of his flaws and had his moments of self-doubt and insecurity, much like the next guy, but he definitely knew his strong sides, too. He knew he was competent in his field, and wouldn’t be shy to tell anyone he felt reasonably good about himself overall, professionally, as well as privately. He would admit to ‘capable’, but ‘hero’; that was a bit much, wasn’t it? He’d only done his job; after all, of course he’d do what he could for people he cared about. Wouldn’t anyone? He’d had to protest.

Evelyn had silenced his protests with all the energy and forward inventiveness in bed he could have ever wished for.

He was still grinning like an idiot. 

Silas came into the kitchen, and Roth quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression, feeling embarrassed only thinking about such raunchy things with the kid in the same room. 

The boy took his empty plate and coffee cup with a bow to the head and turned to start on the dishes. Roth watched Silas work, and his mood fell. He’d had reason to think of many things lately, and Silas had been constantly on his mind. 

Roth had never wanted to be the boy’s master, but he thought he’d reconciled himself with the fact it would still be for the best, that it was for Silas’ own sake, for his safety. Lately, he’d been more and more convinced he was simply wrong. 

Slavery didn’t entail safety, not even with the most well-meaning of owners. Of course, he would never want anything bad to happen to the kid, and would always do his best to see to it he was safe, but so would Nickel, and look what had still happened. Things had occurred none of them had been able to anticipate and Taven had nearly been lost to them, in the cruelest way possible. 

Taven had survived only by the grace of sheer luck. Yes, he’d had the wits about him to tempt those officers with a big reward, but they might as well have brushed it off as lies and taken Taven to the slave center, or if Swift had come back earlier, handed Taven back to him. A question of life and death had been left completely to the whims of those two men. 

That was the only safety a slave could ever truly be offered, the whims of free people.

It wasn’t to say life held any guarantees for anyone, slave _or_ free. Hell, he could step out into the street tomorrow, and be hit by a truck. Roth wasn’t naïve, he realized, on some kind of philosophical level, ‘safety’ might not actually be a thing that existed, but he was nothing but a pragmatic person, and this society should have more to offer a kid like Silas than the arbitrariness of its legal citizens. 

Silas was a ‘real kid’, damn it, and he wanted the rest of society, too, to acknowledge this. Oh, there were bastards out there who wouldn’t help a free kid in trouble either, Roth was well aware, but dehumanizing slaves like this just made it _too_ fucking easy not to care.

At the very least, it should never be easy and accepted to look the other way.

Yes, if he loved Silas, he’d make him a ‘real kid’, and stop fooling himself into thinking putting him in a cage was the best way to keep him safe, and… Roth startled on the kitchen chair in shock at the word that had just popped into his mind, but when he looked over to Silas again he’d never been more convinced love was indeed the correct word. Keeping the boy like this was wrong. He didn’t want a servant or a pet, he wanted a _son_, and he realized now he already loved the kid as if he was. His heart started to beat hard in excitement. 

Nickel had joked with him once, telling him with a deadpan expression he’d threatened his father he would free Taven and marry him. Roth had known Nickel hadn’t been serious because at eighteen Taven was of course too young to be freed, but maybe there had been something to it, after all. Maybe there were exceptions to the law saying a slave had to be twenty-one before an application of citizenship was considered, exceptions such as marriage, or… adoption? 

Would it really be possible to…? 

Roth rose halfway out of the chair, as if he meant to run over to the computer right away, to research things, contact the authorities, and get the ball rolling, but he curbed his enthusiasm and sat back down. Even if it _was_ legally possible to free Silas at fourteen by adopting him, things weren’t quite that easy. 

First, it wasn’t his decision in any case. He didn’t actually own Silas, after all. Nickel did. 

Roth frowned. Once the thought had taken hold, the whole thing seemed a complete no-brainer. He was thirty-five, had a stable job, plenty of money, lived in a nice neighborhood, and was in a steady relationship. Now was the time, damn it. He was more committed to Evelyn than ever, but she’d made it clear she was perfectly happy with her decision not to have children of her own. This might be his only shot at fatherhood. 

However, he wasn’t so sure it would be a similar no-brainer to Nickel. He might think his friend and bodyguard had gone nuts, and simply refuse. Well, given enough time, he could work on Nickel. The biggest obstacle might instead be Silas himself. 

Roth only had to put a word on his feelings, and it became almost ridiculously obvious to him how he really saw Silas, but that didn’t mean Silas would see it the same way. Could a slave child even understand the difference between a father and a master? He realized he had no idea what the boy really thought of him, other than he seemed less scared lately, and more relaxed in his presence. 

His initial thoughts weren’t dependent on Silas accepting him as a father. He wanted freedom and citizenship for the boy first, and he wasn’t so petty as to go back on this conviction, no matter what Silas thought or felt. If Silas didn’t want to be his son, he’d still convince Nickel to put in the application. They would have to wait then, of course, for Silas to turn twenty-one, but he might need the time to adjust in any case.

It was only, Roth feared Silas might not even _want_ freedom, and might in fact never adjust. 

Silas was ‘well-trained’, as Nickel had put it. Roth would rather call it brainwashed. Sure, the kid wasn’t stupid – Roth would even call him bright – but that didn’t mean he could learn to live as a free person. Roth scowled; how many things would a slave like Silas find an insurmountable obstacle in everyday life, that he was simply taking for granted and never wasted a thought on? How did you even speak normally to people after having had this kind of deference pounded into you since birth? How did you walk outside without fear, or dared getting angry with your adoptive dad if he was being a cranky ass before his first cup of black coffee in the morning? 

Roth shook his head in sadness, realizing what a harsh and difficult road would lay ahead of Silas, and how little he himself could actually do to aid him. Oh, of course Roth would be there at every step of the way and offer all the help, support and protection he was able. However, sooner or later he would have to let Silas make his own decisions, live independently, and let him take a few hits from life on his own, or freedom would mean nothing, his overprotection only turning into another form of slavery. 

Silas was strong and resilient; he knew, but setting out on a journey like that at such young years, yeah, that might be too much for the kid to handle. He couldn’t _force_ freedom on Silas. Paradoxically, it would go against the very thing he wanted to do here. If Silas really didn’t want this, any of it, he’d man up and put aside his own wishes and worries, ignoring what he knew to be right, and remain the boy’s master. It would hurt, but he’d do it. 

Another problem promptly occurred to him at this. How the hell could he ever even know what Silas wanted? Roth sat up straight in the chair. Well, how about if he actually _asked_ the kid. Yeah, there was the likely risk Silas would only answer the way he thought his master wanted him to, but they had come so far lately, hadn’t they? Maybe Silas _could_ trust him with the truth. If not, he’d let it be for the time being, and simply ask Silas again, in a couple of years, or so. This wasn’t a ‘now or never’ deal, after all. 

“Silas,” Roth gently spoke up.

The boy was elbow deep in dishwater, bubbles rising, glasses clinking, but he quickly pulled out at his voice, reached for a towel, and turned around, drying his hands. “Yes, Master?”

Something twisted painfully inside of Roth at the boy’s words and the attentive look on his face. “I… I wanted to ask you something,” Roth started, unsure how to put this, ”and I swear, it’s not a trick question or anything like that, I really want to know, and… Whatever your answer is, I won’t be angry or even annoyed, you understand?”

Silas looked puzzled to say the least, and maybe a bit worried, but he nodded.

“If you could choose,” Roth finally asked. “Would you actually want to stay a slave?” 

It was clear just how unexpected the question was. Silas stared at him. In his shock, he was obviously forgetting the inappropriateness of ogling your betters as if they’d gone mad. Roth would have been amused by the astonished look had the situation not been so utterly non-amusing, and the question not so very serious.

He waited for the answer with baited breath.

Silas gaze dropped, and his hands wrought the towel into a tight coil. “N- no…” he managed, his thin voice trailing off into silence. The unsaid ‘master’ hung in the air between them, remaining unspoken not for a lack of respect, but maybe simply for a lack of air. 

Again, Roth’s heart beat hard in his chest, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He almost hadn’t dare hope. With some effort, he forced himself to stop grinning. Silas’ courage, as usual, demanded a serious acknowledgement. “I hear you, Silas,” he said, hoping the boy could tell how sincere he was, “I hear you. We’ll do something about it,” he promised. “One day.”

Silas looked up again, eyeing him with obvious suspicion now. “Yes, Master,” was his only answer as he slowly turned back to finish the dishes. 

Roth started grinning again. Silas was probably only agreeing with the crazy person now, but he had plenty of time convincing the boy of the honesty of his promise. Nothing of this would be easy, but Silas’ ‘no’ was all he needed to hear. It might take years, but if he could only make Silas believe in such a future, the kid would fight for it, Roth was convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	81. The Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taven is having a hard time :-(

Taven blindly felt his way across the floor, limping the short distance to the chair under the window in Nickel’s bedroom. Heart still beating hard he slumped down, shaking all over. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, his master holding him close, but it wasn’t the gentle embrace, it was Nickel’s hard cock pressed up against his back. 

He sat there, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, looking at the shapeless form of his sleeping master huddled under the covers, feeling more and more stupid. Now that he was fully awake, he wasn’t sure he really had felt Nickel’s erection. Maybe he’d just imagined it or dreamed something. What did it even matter if he had been right? Nickel getting hard in his sleep was hardly a threat to him. He _had_ said they wouldn’t have sex until Taven healed completely. 

Taven rubbed at his eyes with his good hand, he was such an idiot. 

His master made a mumbling sound in his sleep and turned on his back. Taven forced himself to go back to the bed. He didn’t want Nickel to wake up and ask what the matter was, he couldn’t explain anyway. As he lay down the man turned again and put an arm around him. 

With not so little effort he finally managed to suppress the anxiety and go back to sleep.

\-----o0o-----

In the morning, he’d wet the bed.

Taven sat in the chair again, wrapped in a big towel, head hanging, while Nickel stood staring at the mess with a troubled expression, pulling a little at the covers. 

“I’ll take it downstairs, Master,” he offered.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Nickel answered. “I’m not letting you go down all those stairs in your condition. Besides, with one hand in a cast and the other holding the crutch, just how were you planning to carry all this to the laundry?” 

Taven looked at his hands; he had no answer. 

“I suppose I could take it downstairs myself,” Nickel said. “I mean, it’s a washing machine, how hard could it be to figure out how to use it? Though it would be difficult not to attract attention…” He started to pull at the sheets with a resolute expression, bunching them together with the soaked pajamas. “I’ll throw it away,” he said. 

“No, Master,” Taven protested. He’d caused enough trouble, when there was such a simple solution to the whole damn thing. “Don’t do that! Just… just tell Eve!”

Nickel dropped the sheets and stared at him. 

Taven sighed, miserable. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ the whole house to know. He’d told Jonas his entire life, but this was the one thing he’d held back. Still, it was stupid to try to keep it a secret any longer. The others had been nicer to him lately; maybe they really wouldn’t mock him about it… too much. “I don’t care anymore,” he said. “They can think what the hell they want.”

Nickel nodded, looking sad, but didn’t protest. He would know, too, that it was what they needed to do and that he couldn’t keep throwing his sheets away. “No one will think anything, Taven, or they’ll have to answer to me,” he promised. 

Taven sighed again. They’d been through this before; a master can’t control what his slaves are thinking. “Thanks, Master,” he said nevertheless.

\-----o0o-----

A short while later Eve knocked on the door and Taven watched Nickel explain the situation. 

He didn’t know what was worse, the humiliation of hearing his secret being revealed right in front of him, or Eve’s fearful demeanor as their master ordered her to be discreet, and described just how angry he would be if a single taunting word from any of them ever came back to him. 

Their master retreated to his bathroom after telling her to take care of the bed, leaving him alone with the mousy chambermaid. 

Taven couldn’t help noticing how her hands shook, and how she seemed close to tears while she started to sort out the bed. She was clearly still upset at their master’s harsh words. He wanted to say something comforting, but had no idea what. Even though Eve and he were the only slaves in the house who served their master personally on a regular basis, he didn’t really know her. They had only briefly spoken to each other a handful of times, and never about anything personal. In fact, before he’d been injured they had almost never been in these rooms at the same time. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally murmured. “Sorry you have to take care of that. I- I know it’s fucking disgusting, and…” He silenced, hanging his head, again taken over by shame. 

She came around to the other side of the bed, but left it and walked up to the chair he was sitting in instead. Eve crouched down before him and tried to catch his eyes under the strands loosened from his braid and hanging in his face. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, her voice so soft and caring. “I don’t mind, I’ve cleaned up worse things. Besides, you’re not the only one in the house who’s had problems like this.” 

Taven looked at her in surprise. “I… I’m not?”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “No,” she said. “You’re not, far from it, but master wouldn’t know, because you’re the only one of us he’s ever slept with.” She put a finger to her mouth and winked at him, as if he was now part of some big secret, then she stood and turned back to the bed.

He was speechless.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel brought classes to his bedroom. 

Taven was bored, staying in and around the bed all day. He would be happy to have something to occupy his mind with, Nickel had thought, even if it was school. Arranging a daily makeshift classroom close to the bed would be better than having an injured Taven climbing those old stairs.

He’d walked down from the attic, Jonas trailing behind him in the narrow stairs, carrying a stack of books so high it was a wonder the slave could see where he was going.

It hadn’t been a given to include the garage slave. Nickel looked forward to resume the lessons, but was considerably less enthusiastic now, about letting Jonas participate. 

After listening in on Taven opening up to Jonas, he’d been sorely tempted to dismiss the worker, not only from the classroom, but from Taven, as well. However, Nickel _had_ promised not to cut Taven off from more people, and he had promised Jonas to tutor him. 

Of course, there was no requirement to keep promises to slaves. Sometimes a master thoughtlessly promised things, but thought better of it, or had good reasons to change his mind, and the slave had better not complain. In the end, the master knew best, the slave had no right to make demands in the first place, and changing his mind would be a perfectly natural and commonplace thing to do.

Only, deep down, Nickel knew he had no good reason to go back on his word, and that he didn’t have it in him to hurt Taven in such a way, _or_ that awkward ugly boy who had taken a seat on the floor beside the bed. How could he? The garage slave was pathetic. 

Strange enough, he also turned out to be a good influence on Taven.

Taven had looked less than happy when they’d walked in earlier, overloaded with books. No doubt, he had hoped school would be out for months of healing. However, he’d changed moods surprisingly fast. 

Jonas’ obvious eagerness to hit the books, and his shy happiness at being included, soon rubbed off on Taven. Instead of acting jealous and feel threatened at how quickly Jonas learned; it seemed to inspire Taven to try harder. Jonas also proved to be an efficient ‘co-tutor’, helping Taven along with a kind of patience Nickel often had to struggle to maintain. 

“You did that _so_ well,” Jonas blurted out when Taven – helped every step of the way by his friend – finally managed to solve a simple math problem using long division. 

Taven absolutely beamed, seemingly without any kind of suspicion the praise might not be honestly meant. 

All of a sudden, trust seemed to come easy. 

Nickel frowned, pushed the books aside and stood up from the bed. “This will have to do for today,” he announced. “I have paperwork to do. Class is dismissed!”

Jonas sprang up and bowed in the same annoying awkward manner he always did. Nickel frowned deeper.

“Tidy up this mess and carry the books back upstairs,” he ordered, “and be quick about it, you’re not to neglect your ordinary duties.”

Taven leaned toward him in the bed. “But, Master,” he protested. “If we’re gonna have classes here every day… There’s lots of room in here for a few books, and shit.”

Nickel couldn’t stem the irritation rising up within him. “Be quiet!” he snapped at Taven, making the boy’s eyes go wide, before looking back to Jonas with an even deeper scowl. “Slave, do as you’re told!” he barked, turning his back on a cowering Jonas and stomping across the floor toward the door, but he halted at the threshold. 

Why was he angry? They hadn’t done anything. Taven had made better progress than in a long time, and Jonas had behaved exemplary, for a slave who’d never been taught proper house manners. He turned, watching Jonas gather books and papers with shaking hands. He was trying to be quick, as ordered, but kept fumbling and dropping the books. Taven looked on with a frown, no doubt thinking his master was being mean, scaring his friend. 

Nickel sighed deeply. “Bruno can manage,” he said, making both boys startle and turn their heads at his voice. “Stay! Leave the books here for tomorrow, by all means, and I suppose keeping Taven company for a while might do him good. Also…” Nickel cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve come to realize you might have lived under the impression _any_ touches between you are forbidden, and… I think you both know what kind of touches _are_ forbidden, and understand where I draw the line, so… I never really meant to… I suppose a supportive pat, or a friendly hug, would be all right. Well,” he added, giving Jonas a strict look. “Don’t stay too long!”

He turned again and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, not waiting for a ‘yes master’, avoiding their reactions. Nickel imagined a mix of surprise and gratitude on their faces, and had no idea if this made him feel better, or worse.

\-----o0o-----

In the evening, they were watching TV, Taven nestled into his usual corner of the couch under a blanket, hoping his master was distracted enough by the news the man wouldn’t notice how shook up he still was. 

Earlier, in the bathroom, things had gone… wrong.

With his hand in a cast, Taven hadn’t been able to take care of his hair, and now, his master had claimed, it had turned so grimy he simply _had_ to wash it for him. Taven hadn’t been fooled. Nickel couldn’t wait to do it, and one part of the man was probably happy the circumstances gave him an excuse. He’d still nodded, following Nickel into the bathroom. His hair did need a good cleaning. 

Nickel had wrapped his cast in plastic, placed an old wooden stool in the shower for Taven to sit on, and at first things had been fine. He’d felt safe, they’d been naked together in the bathroom before, and he hadn’t had a real shower since before his kidnapping, his scalp itching. The warm water and Nickel’s careful fingers separating and massaging the long strands had felt wonderful. He’d closed his eyes and let himself be lost in the sensation, but… 

The fear had attacked him out of nowhere. With his eyes closed Nickel’s hands in his hair were indistinguishable from Swift’s, neither gentler, nor touching with less fascination. In an instant he’d been brought back to that other bathroom, beaten, torn, abandoned by all, waiting for torture and death.

He’d panicked.

Screaming, yelling and flailing he’d tried to get away from the hands, throwing himself off the chair without even trying to reach for his crutch. He’d lost his balance, the wet tiles slippery under his feet.

Nickel had caught him, saving him from falling and hurting himself, but it hadn’t registered with him at the time, and he’d fought for his life against that tight grip. 

He felt bad about that; now that he was sane again, thinking it was only sheer luck he hadn’t given his master a black eye, or a fat lip. Instead, Nickel had somehow managed to avoid the widely swinging cast, and had held on to him, talking soothing words, until he’d calmed down, and had let the man finish rinsing out his hair. 

Taven turned red in his corner and pulled a little at his damp, uncombed and unbraided hair. Nickel had not attempted to help him take care of it further, and hadn’t even pressured him about what had gone wrong. This was worrying in itself. No matter how hard it had often been to talk with his master about his problems, at least, deep down, he had appreciated Nickel seemed to care enough to want to know. 

This time he had obviously not wanted to hear why his idiot of a slave had panicked. 

Taven shrunk in on himself under the blanket. Nickel wasn’t Swift, and it was awful of him to compare his good master’s innocent delight in his hair with a monster wanting to fucking jerk off to a dead slave’s removed scalp. It must have hurt his master terribly, understanding why he’d reacted the way he had. 

His cheeks turned ever hotter with shame. He was denying his master every little pleasure, and though he wished nothing more than to just get over it, he couldn’t imagine it would ever change. Even now, he shook only thinking of how the terror had come over him. 

It was Nickel’s own fault, Taven decided, so tired of feeling worthless and ashamed, and desperately needing someone else to blame. His master was just too fucking nice, that was the whole problem. 

Nickel had given him the right to occasionally say no to sex, to have a ‘bad night’, and maybe that’s why he didn’t mention his slave’s behavior, but he was still just too fucking kind with shit like this. In fact, Taven wished the man would just fucking take him by force already.

He _was_ afraid of the pain, but it would surely be all right. Nickel was rarely physically harsh. His master wouldn’t actually hurt him, or injure him, Taven was positive, but only hold him down properly. Keep him pinned, so he couldn’t panic and try to get away, or be given a chance to whine his way out of it with tears or pleas. 

Yes, Taven thought, after what had happened he was too scared and weak to do it on his own, so, his master had to _make_ him. The man only did that; he would eventually get over it, he was sure, and didn’t have to feel like such a bad person anymore. 

Taven closed his eyes, despair coming over him. He knew his master enough to realize the man would never do that, which meant, as soon as he healed enough, he would be forced to admit the mere thought of sex made him sick to his stomach and that he never wanted to do it again, that, from now on, _all_ nights would be bad nights. 

He stole a glance at his master, concentrating on the TV screen just a little bit too intently, and swallowed hard. If he told his master this, the man would hate him. He would never again be safe, valued and taken care of. Nickel’s eyes would go cold with hurt and anger and everything, and everyone, would be taken from him, even his name. 

His master would discard him and banish him forever, as he’d done Serenity. 

The concubinage might promise him food, clothing and a roof over his head for the rest of his life, but how could it save him from his master’s hate and disgust?

Taven thought he was going to be sick, he could see no way out of this.

\-----o0o-----

He woke up with a start, dragging himself up into a sitting position. Taven was shaking like a leaf, the nightmare still clutching him in a tight grip. 

In the dream he’d been lost in an endless void of darkness, tumbling wildly about without control, nothing to anchor him to anything, having no idea what was up or down, what kinds of threats and horrors the darkness might contain, or where he would end up. He’d been as terrified of encountering something evil as he’d been of discovering there was nothing there but himself – as horrified at tumbling helplessly into the mouth of a monster, as at tumbling on forever, there being nowhere to end up. 

Taven shuddered, turned his head and looked behind him to a soundly sleeping Nickel. He was surprised he hadn’t woken up screaming, but was grateful for it. If he woke up his master, Nickel would only try to comfort him. 

There was no damn comfort. 

It was the fourth night in a row similar things had woke him up in the middle of the night, but usually he managed to stay in bed and force himself to calm down so he could go back to sleep. 

Tonight, he was unable to shake the dream and just had to get out of the bed. If Nickel heard him, he’d say he needed to go to the bathroom. He fumbled to find his crutch, leaning against the nightstand, and started to pace the room, still shaking so much he could hardly put one foot in front the other, but it didn’t help and his anxiety only grew and grew. 

The room was dark, but it wasn’t the black void of the dream. No, this darkness was full of shadows, full of sounds, every creak and snap of a centuries-old house making him flinch and look about for threats. This wasn’t Swift’s place, but what did it matter. How many slaves had suffered and died here throughout the ages, whipped, starved and worked to death? How many girls had been raped in the basement…?

He wasn’t safe here; he wasn’t safe anywhere. Taven halted by the bed and looked down at his sleeping master; he wasn’t safe with free men… _Any_ free man. 

Fear took him over completely. All he knew was, the monsters he’d feared in the darkness of the dream were real, but that in contrast to his nightmare here he could stand on his feet, and had a weapon. Taven raised the crutch over his head with one violently shaking arm, heart beating so hard he thought he might pass out if not for the adrenaline that rushed through his body. It was a matter of life or death, no one would come for him, and he _had_ to defend himself.

He couldn’t do it. 

His fingers turned limp and the crutch fell to the floor, landing behind his back, the loud crash making his master sit straight up in the bed. 

“What?” he yelled. “Taven? Where are you? What happened?” Nickel fumbled for the lamp at the nightstand, his sleep-tousled head whipping about in confusion when he finally managed to switch it on. 

If Taven’s heart had been racing before, it now felt as if it had stopped. Whatever insanity had possessed him it went away in an instant, and all he was left with was the realization he’d nearly whacked a sleeping Nickel over the head and might have injured him badly, even killed him. Terror gripped him again. He didn’t want to hurt his master. _Never_. What was wrong with him? Was he going mad? 

Nickel reached out a comforting hand and patted his arm. “Taven?” he said, the mildness in his voice making Taven want to shrivel up and die. “Were you sleepwalking?” he asked.

Taven wished he could agree this had been the case, but he didn’t have the luxury of such an excuse. Whatever had taken him over, no matter how unlike himself he thought it was, he _had_ been fully awake and aware when he raised that crutch, neither sleepwalking nor hallucinating, and he had never been less deserving of his master’s concern and worry. Taven couldn’t deal; he collapsed in a heap on the floor and burst out weeping. 

Nickel was at his side in seconds, putting his arms around him. Taven turned in those arms and held on to his master, crying hard in guilt and regret. “I’m sorry,” he wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel put his phone in front of him on the large desk, staring at it. As worried as he was, he still hesitated to call the number he’d looked up. 

Taven wasn’t well, he thought. Mentally. Oh, Nickel wasn’t a fool, and admitted it could be argued Taven had been mentally fragile for many years and certainly as long as he’d owned the boy, but it was worse now… or maybe it wasn’t actually worse, not as such. Taven had shown so many signs of not being well even before the disastrous kidnapping, having trust issues, always as close to tears as to anger, panicking, having night terrors, wetting the bed, being insecure, impulsive and self-destructive. 

However, once he’d managed to convince Taven he was in fact not the enemy, he’d been able to help the boy, and eventually become close to him. Yes, he’d finally become a stable and safe presence in Taven’s life, who the boy could always turn to, someone he could hold on to, not to fall apart completely, even at the worst of times. 

After the kidnapping, Nickel had been prepared for many sleepless nights, where episodes of night terror and sleepwalking would increase, and had first been relieved when it didn’t seem to be the case. On the contrary, though Taven more often wet the bed, there had been few other nocturnal incidents. Nickel’s relief had not lasted long as he understood this was only because Taven never seemed to sleep long enough at a time to trigger these episodes. 

Nickel had tried to give Taven space, feigning sleep, but he’d been observing the boy. He couldn’t deny it hurt when his concubine left the bed, not to go to the bathroom, or to sleepwalk, but to sit in the chair under the window, staring at the bed with a shudder, seemingly forcing himself to go back. 

He had thought himself prepared, but he hadn’t counted on that _his_ presence would make it worse, instead of better. 

It wasn’t only that any kind of physical closeness between them seemed out of the question, but Taven didn’t even seem able to distinguish him from… Nickel swallowed hard and hid his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the desktop at either side of the phone. He rubbed at his temples, the thought hurt too much to finish, but he couldn’t deny the most likely reason Taven had panicked in the bathroom. 

Then there was the incident last night, the crash of Taven having dropped his crutch startling him awake. He’d found the boy standing beside the bed with a terrified expression, shaking all over. 

Nickel had thought Taven was sleepwalking after all then, or having a night terror episode, frightened at the dream images in his head. Even though his eyes were often open during such a fit, and he, at a first glance, appeared awake, Taven really wasn’t and, waking up hours later, usually didn’t remember a thing. Nickel shuddered; it hadn’t been such an episode at all. Taven _had_ been awake and aware, while _still_ gripped in the same kind of terror. 

If those subconscious behaviors crept into Taven’s waking awareness, then wouldn’t this indicate some kind of… psychosis? Whatever it was, it had scared him, and it had obviously scared Taven, too. 

Nickel needed help. 

Determined to get this help, Nickel straightened up in the chair and picked up the phone. 

The female psychologist’s voice was appropriately soft, understanding and soothing answering with her name and title, asking what she could do for the caller. Nickel resisted the polite urge to answer with a similar introduction. He’d decided, at a first call, he should probably remain anonymous. His phone was set not to reveal his number. 

He cleared his throat, unsure about how to start the conversation. The psychologist might be used to people hesitating, as she seemed to wait him out patiently. “Um,” he started, considerably less eloquent than he would have wished. “I apologize if it might seem a bit rude, but considering the circumstances of me… well, being clan, I would like to ask for the possibility of treatment in the near future, while remaining anonymous for this call.”

“Very well, Sir,” the soothing voice agreed. “May I ask what the nature of your problem is?”

“It’s not… I’m not calling on my own behalf...”

“I see. Is it a family member you’re concerned about?”

“Not really, no.” Nickel hesitated again. ”It’s a slave,” he finally said. “It’s my personal slave.”

The silence was poignant. For a moment, Nickel was afraid the psychologist had hung up on him. He was just about to ask if she was still there when she spoke again. 

“I’m not sure I can help her, Sir.”

“It’s a man,” Nickel hurried to correct her, not prepared to be dismissed so soon and wanting to continue the conversation. “It’s not a she, it’s a- a young man. He was severely abused by his former owner, recently had a related traumatic experience, and- and… He’s not well. Mentally, I mean.” 

Silence.

“He’s only eighteen,” Nickel said, cringing at how desperate he sounded. 

There was a sympathetic sigh in his ear. “I understand, Sir,” she said. “I can imagine. I’m not unfamiliar with similar cases among my clientele and the harm such experiences can cause. I’m truly sorry, but I really can’t help you.” 

“Why?” Nickel demanded, not quite able to curb his anger at the disappointment. “You come well recommended everywhere I’ve researched, and I am _clan_. It’s not as if I can’t pay whatever the cost. The doctor who treated his broken bones certainly didn’t turn down my money. Why wouldn’t you treat his mind?”

There was another sad sigh. “Sir, this isn’t about money. Please disregard my earlier statement, as by dismissing you; I _am_ actually trying to help you, _and_ your boy. Treating a slave for mental problems isn’t quite the same as setting broken bones. You might not be aware, Sir, but licensed psychologists are required by law to report any slave they might be asked to treat to the authorities. It’s my experience few slaves survive such a report.”

Nickel gasped. 

“If your boy is as damaged by his experiences as I suspect he is, then I could lose my license to practice if I failed to report it.”

This time it was Nickel who went silent.

“I _am_ truly sorry, Sir. I do feel for the poor thing, and for your predicament, but if you want him alive, I’d advise you to not seek this kind of help again.”

Of course, Nickel thought, despair coming over him, he should have understood. He had read the book from the human rights organization, after all. Of course, a slave could never officially be treated for a mental problem, because such a slave wasn’t supposed to be allowed to live in the first place. 

“Is it all the advice you can offer me?” Nickel pleaded. 

Again, there was a hesitating silence in his ear. “I wouldn’t normally suggest… However, if your boy is traumatized and you can’t bring yourself to… You could try having him lobotomized, Sir.” 

Nickel gasped again. Was she seriously suggesting he cut into Taven’s brain, turning him into a vegetable? “I… I- I couldn’t…” he managed. “I apologize for having taken up your time, I will think of something else.” 

Maybe there were a few polite phrases exchanged before he switched the phone off, Nickel was still too upset at the psychologist’s suggestion, he hardly noticed what was being further said. Afterwards, he just sat there, staring in front of him.

There were no help to have. He was on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran


	82. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear... .... Oh my... .... .... :-(
> 
> /Fran

The air carried a promise of spring; an earthy scent as the grounds thawed that wasn’t at all unpleasant. It still wasn’t nice outside, Nickel thought, pulling his scarf tighter where he sat on one of the garden benches in front of the mansion. It was cold, and not the crisp coldness of winter, but the damp kind of coldness that clung to you like wet cotton. Nature really was drab at this time of year, wilted grass peeking through dirty patches of snow, trees still bare, and the sun seemingly having vacated the skies. 

In spite of this non-welcoming picture outside their window, Taven had begged him to get to go out this morning, and since Nickel did not intend to let him walk about on his own, here they were. The boy had left the bench to limp out onto the lawn, stopping now and then to put his freckled nose in the air, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. 

“Don’t go too far!” Nickel called out. “Watch out for patches of ice!”

Taven turned and gave him a small wave and a smile, maybe intended to assure him he was doing fine on his crutch, and then took a few more steps farther away. 

Nickel shook his head, but smiled back. 

Only a few days ago, they had both been as miserable as the gray skies above, but now he wanted to be hopeful things were looking up. Shocked by the psychologist’s suggestion, Nickel had nevertheless been inspired, thinking it might be possible to change Taven’s brain after all, without doing permanent damage – with drugs. 

Nickel had talked to Dr. Cordeaux, but the old man hadn’t been entirely onboard with the plan. He’d warned about side effects and possible addiction. The family doctor didn’t think heavily drugging the slave was a good long-term solution. 

He had agreed, but pointed out the alternatives didn’t seem very promising, either. 

In the end they had agreed on giving Taven sleeping pills, as well as a mild dose of an anti anxiety agent, which they would gradually increase, if needed. Dr. Cordeaux had written two different prescriptions for him, and Nickel had introduced the medication to Taven the same night. 

Making Taven take the pills hadn’t been entirely without difficulties. The boy had at once understood these new pills were something else than the painkillers he was used to since coming home from the hospital, and even after Nickel had explained what they were, he’d been wary and suspicious. 

Nickel had been forced to be the strict master and make it an order, before Taven put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with a glass of water.

The peace of the following nights had been a blessing, Taven sleeping like a baby, no disturbances of any kind. Nickel wanted to believe the boy was feeling better during daytime, too. At least Taven claimed he was. Maybe he couldn’t keep giving Taven sleeping pills forever, but for now… Nickel refused to consider any downsides, desperately needing the respite.

\-----o0o-----

Eve was very gentle with her hands. Taven closed his eyes while she brushed his hair, enjoying having it disentangled, braided and out of the way without pain, or panic attacks. The mousy maid’s small hands really couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s, and she kept talking, too, her soft voice a comforting reminder of who was hovering behind him.

“Ada misses you,” she said. “She told me, tell him I’ll send up any dinner. Just ask him what he wants.”

“I miss her, too,” Taven said. 

He really did, and his room, as well as having free range of the house and the gardens. There really was no reason Nickel was keeping him up here around the clock. Taven was much steadier on his feet now, and had become used to the crutch. Of course, he would be extra careful in the stairs, and yes, his hip soon got achy, but it wasn’t a big problem. He’d only sit down somewhere to rest a bit and he’d be good to go again. 

However, his master hadn’t listened to any such arguments. 

“Any dinner is fine,” he said. “Ada makes everything taste good.”

“Oh, she’s the best cook in the house,” Eve agreed. “Better than our dear Head Cook, but…” Her hands stopped their brushing motions while she leaned in closer. “Don’t tell _her_ that,” she whispered in his ear with a giggle. 

Taven smiled a little, too.

“But you have to have a favorite dinner,” Eve persisted. 

Taven looked down in his lap, thinking back to the bathroom where he’d been held prisoner. He’d promised himself, if he survived, he would be more grateful for what he had. “They really are all just as good,” he said. 

Eve shrugged and resumed the brushing. “Sarah’s been cleaning your room,” she prattled on. “She wanted it to be all nice and shiny for when you come back.” 

Taven tensed up, but then he remembered. He didn’t really have anything to hide anymore and it was all right if the maids cleaned his room, even if he was becoming more and more convinced he would in fact never ‘come back’. Still, Taven was surprised Sarah seemed to have volunteered for the job. Again, he hung his head. “I heard Sarah call me an asshole once,” he said.

“Oh, that naughty girl,” Eve said. 

“No,” Taven protested. “I mean I was. I _was_ a fucking asshole.”

Again, Eve stopped the brushing, and rubbed his arm instead. “But you’re not now, we know that, and you’re sorry, that’s all that matters.”

“It is?” Taven asked. Could that really be true?

“Of course,” Eve said. “Family fights sometimes, but in the end, all we have is each other.”

Family? Did Eve mean to say this included _him_? Taven didn’t dare ask her to clarify. 

Eve finished braiding his hair, and put it over his shoulder to show him. “There! All done,” she said. 

“Thanks,” Taven answered, running his fingers along the neatly done braid. 

Ever since the ‘incident’ in the bathroom, Eve had been assigned to help him with any grooming he found it hard to do on his own. It worked well, Eve claiming she was only too happy to help, Taven finding he trusted her to see his damaged body. However, it also added to his shame. He was cutting off Nickel from being close to him in all ways he could, and it was a really bad thing for a concubine to do. 

Maybe that’s why he didn’t complain more about being holed up in here, or admitted to his master, if he didn’t have Jonas joining them for school a few days a week, he’d go crazy. 

It might also be why he let Nickel believe all of the medication worked as it should. 

He’d been scared of the new pills at first, and hadn’t been calmed by his master explaining them. Sleeping pills? He didn’t want to fucking sleep. Sleep brought bad dreams, bad dreams brought fear, and fear made him crazy, nearly making him hurt his good master, who he _cared_ about. Taven could control his sleep, he’d thought, forcing himself to stay awake at night when his master slept beside him, and then sleep during the day when the man usually wasn’t in his rooms. He was scared to death to have this control taken from him. 

However, he couldn’t explain this to his master, and the man had been adamant he take the pills. Taven had had no choice. Nickel hadn’t trusted him even then, but kept checking his mouth every damn fucking time, making sure he had really swallowed. 

Taven had been wrong about the sleeping pills and was no longer scared. On the contrary, he’d come to love them. They nicely knocked him out cold every night at bedtime, and if he dreamed, he had no recollection of doing so. He did no longer wake up, for any reason, until the morning, and had no awareness of anyone sleeping beside him. The fear he would wake up caught in another nightmare and do something he would regret, was gone. It was a huge burden lifted from a thin pair of shoulders already weighted down with too much shame and fears. If the sleeping pills would also make him stop wetting the bed, he’d happily take them every night for the rest of his life. 

It was the other pill Nickel forced him to take... 

His master had explained the second pill would make him feel better overall, less anxious, not so depressed and sad, more at peace and content. They… didn’t. Taking them for a while now, Taven couldn’t tell any difference whatsoever, feeling just as overall shitty as before. However, when the man asked how he was, he smiled and said things were fine, only because Nickel looked so relieved and happy to hear it worked. 

It seemed the only way he could put a smile on his master’s face these days, the only way to make Nickel the tiniest bit pleased with him, and so, he couldn’t resist the lie. He was only afraid his master would believe it _too_ much, thinking it was a good time to become intimate again. 

Sleeping through the night _was_ good, Taven really needed the rest. It gave him more strength to keep up the lie, if nothing else, but other than that, things seemed worse than ever. 

He could still see no way out.

\-----o0o-----

They’d been watching TV.

Taven was huddling in his usual corner of the couch, far away from him, and as much as this bothered Nickel, he had to admit; tonight the boy might have a good reason to be somewhat withdrawn. 

“I’m really not angry,” he said, turning to Taven and breaking the uncomfortable silence that lingered even though he’d switched off the TV. 

He really wasn’t. Jonas hadn’t angered him this morning, that wasn’t it. No, the garage slave had… annoyed him. Yes, the lanky worker was simply so annoying sometimes, constantly hovering as close to Taven as he could, looking at him with such… Well, it had occurred to Nickel he really weren’t obligated to stand the boy in his own bedroom a second longer than he wanted to. He’d thrown Jonas out, brusquely ordering the slave to leave at once, continuing the lessons with Taven as his only student while the other boy fled out the door. 

“Yes, Master,” Taven murmured without looking up, sounding very much as if he didn’t believe it for a second. 

Nickel felt defensive. He understood the sudden barked order might have scared the boys, as it probably had come somewhat out of the blue, but if he didn’t want a certain slave around, then he shouldn’t have to explain himself to _anyone_. “It’s really nothing to be sulky about, boy,” he snapped. 

Taven seemed to shrink at what must have sounded like a reprimand to him, though Nickel hadn’t intended it to. 

He sighed. “Oh, come here,” he said. “Come sit with me!” Nickel lifted up his arm in invitation, fearing even as he spoke the boy would simply refuse.

Taven didn’t. He came over, settled at his side and let his master put an arm around his shoulders. It didn’t escape Nickel how tense those shoulders were. 

“He’s not dismissed from class permanently,” he explained. “This morning… I was simply not in a good mood, that’s all. It wasn’t anything in particular he did. I’ll bring him back tomorrow, even if isn’t his scheduled day, how about that?”

“We really didn’t do anything wrong, Master?” Taven asked.

“No,” Nickel said, rubbing Taven’s arm and pressing him closer, “not at all. I’ll bring him back, don’t you worry.”

Finally, Taven relaxed, and even smiled a little, leaning his head against his chest. “Thank you, Master,” he said.

Nickel smiled too, happy for this rare moment of closeness. He lifted his hand to caress Taven over the hair, but stopped it midway and rubbed the boy’s arm once more instead. It wasn’t an altogether sweet moment, and Nickel couldn’t help looking back at what they had had in the months before the kidnapping with sadness. 

How could he forget how intimate they had been, how readily Taven had come to him, learning to trust, opening up and giving of himself? Was he simply supposed to put aside all memories of them having sex? Nickel couldn’t.

When they had made love… The way Taven would ride him, responding to his every move, even when lost in his own pleasure, the way he would cuddle close to him after they both had had their fill, so needy for his master’s affectionate aftercare… These memories were so strong.

Nickel wouldn’t have been human if he didn’t wish for all that back. 

He had to have patience, Nickel reminded himself, and give Taven all the space and time he needed. It shouldn’t be such a big deal; he chided himself. Nickel had been patient before after all, waiting months to test the waters carefully, even turning down Taven’s own initiatives in the beginning. If he’d managed all that time without sex, he sure could manage now. 

Only, this was different somehow, and the frustration he felt was of another nature. Before, he hadn’t fully known what he was missing, after all, not yet having had a real taste of it. He was desperate for both sex and closeness now in a way he found much more painful than his earlier pining for the boy. The fact he was so rarely being allowed close was starting to affect him badly. 

Not until Taven, again, seemed to turn to ice in his arms did Nickel realize he’d started to make the memories real. Without thinking, he’d pulled Taven closer, nuzzled his nose into the boy’s neck and let his lips trace the edge of Taven’s jawbone. 

He pulled away and Taven leaned over and hid his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so small and filled with shame. “I’m sorry.” 

Nickel couldn’t help the anger he felt. He wasn’t going to hurt Taven, and the boy _knew_ it. He only wanted them to be close, the way they used to be. Why would his own concubine keep denying him like this, when all he wanted was to help the boy and care for him? Why would Taven react like this, when all his master had ever done was to give him everything a slave could hope for? It was both insulting and ungrateful, and…

He never acted on this anger.

At the edge of the couch Taven’s thin arched back started to tremble before him, the boy’s face still hidden in his hands. Nickel couldn’t tell if he was crying, or shaking in the grip of a recalled trauma, but the disappointment and anger deflated immediately at the sight, leaving only a bad conscience. None of this was Taven’s fault and the last thing his slave was trying to do was to insult him.

“It’s all right,” he said, refraining from putting a comforting hand on Taven’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, boy. It’s all right, let’s… Let’s go get your sleeping pills and have an early night.”

Taven reached for his crutch and limped beside him to the bedroom, not looking at him once, hanging his head, but allowing a supportive hand at his elbow. In bed, he took the pills without hesitation, and Nickel watched him succumb to their sedative power, drifting into a deep sleep within minutes.

He sat at the bedside for a long time, resisting the urge to touch his sleeping concubine’s hair, feeling bad at his selfish anger earlier. He didn’t blame Taven, of course, he didn’t, but it did absolutely nothing to lessen neither his frustrations, nor his desires.

\-----o0o-----

Taven carefully took one step at a time down the huge and wide front stairs, trying to take it slow in his eagerness to go outside, minding his bad hip, and making sure he knew where he put the crutch.

His mood had been looking up a fraction only the last two days, when he’d finally succeeded in convincing his master he would be all right walking around on his own. Yesterday he’d ventured down the backstairs to the kitchens and for the first time since before the kidnapping, had been eating with the others. 

It had been great, and he’d felt so welcomed, even missed. Mostly by Ada, of course, but the others, too had been nice, and helped carry his tray to the table, asking how he was doing and if his leg and hand would be all right. Above all, it had felt like such a relief to be away from the stifling atmosphere in his master’s rooms, to be able to forget, if only for a moment, just what a worthless kind of shit he was and avoid Nickel’s gloomy mood and sad eyes. 

Weeks of that had hardly helped with the misery he was trapped in. 

However, this morning he was also happy about going back to the hospital to get his cast removed. Taven hated not having full use of both his hands, and it constantly itched, too. He’d thought he would go mad with it, until Eve had thought of giving him an old knitting needle to scratch with. 

Well, he’d managed to nag Nickel into letting him go ahead on his own, to wait on the car in the front yard. Taven hoped it would be Jonas bringing it up so he could steal a few words with his friend without their master sitting beside them, watching their every move like a hawk. 

The car was already coming up the driveway from the garage while he stepped outside the huge front doors, but Taven was sorely disappointed to discover it was Bruno driving. 

Bruno didn’t look happy to see him either. Muttering something grumpy and unintelligible in greeting as he got out of the car, he hurried to turn his back on Taven to walk back to the garage. 

Maybe it was the disappointment, missing out on being alone with Jonas, or maybe only the frazzled state he’d been in for so long, but Taven decided on the spot he would have no more of the trusty’s dislike. Ignoring the ache in his hip, he hurried to limp in Bruno’s way, forcing him to a halt. “Why are you such a fucking bastard?” he yelled. “Why do you hate me so much? What the fuck did I ever do to you?” 

For a second Bruno’s face turned slack, as if Taven’s anger was so unexpected his mind turned off, but then his broad shoulders sagged and he sighed deeply. “I don’t hate you, boy,” he said. 

The trusty gave up another resigned sigh and looked away from Taven’s fuming demeanor, scratching at his neck. “I don’t hate you,” he repeated, “and you didn’t do anything. You’re just a kid… immature… nothing a few more years won’t fix… There’s nothing wrong with you, nothing bad in you…” Bruno turned back and tried to give him a smile. “I like you fine, boy.”

Bruno _liked_ him. What the fuck was the problem then? Taven didn’t understand and was stunned silent.

The trusty turned to the big house behind them, craning his neck to look over the car, obviously trying to see if their master was on his way outside. He stepped up to Taven and took him by the arm. 

Taven startled in fear, but the grip wasn’t hard. 

“You don’t get it, boy,” Bruno said, his voice desperate and pleading. “Jonas, he… He’s all I got. He’s my boy, you understand. The only family I have. I know he isn’t really mine, but I’m like his dad anyway; know what I mean. He’s my _son_, Taven, and if anything happened to him…” Bruno closed his eyes at these pained words, but soon nailed Taven with the same pleading look again. 

“I don’t know what’s going on between Master and you, boy, but I know what Jonas has been telling me about his mood, and the man isn’t happy. You get this is dangerous for Jonas? We, us workers, we aren’t meant to be so damn close to the masters, the less we’re noticed the better. Now, Master has his eyes on Jonas, keeps bringing him upstairs, and he’s in a shitty mood it’s not _you_ he’s gonna beat up, is it? It’s not you he’s gonna sell, or ‘make disappear’.” 

Taven’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t deny the truth of Bruno’s words. 

“Please,” Bruno said, clearly fighting to keep his voice low and steady. “Please, just… Just keep Master happy, okay. Just… just… Keep him happy, boy! _Please_ keep the man in a good mood!”

Taven’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He wanted to assure Bruno, but how could he? How could he? 

They both startled at the sound of steps behind them. Bruno let go of his arm, and ran to open the car door for their approaching master with a deep bow. 

Nickel didn’t seem to notice Bruno, only gave Taven a smile and asked if he was ready to go. Taven nodded, still as if frozen inside at the trusty’s plea. He got in the car, his good hand automatically reaching for the seatbelt.

\-----o0o-----

Taven halted halfway down the stairs, staring at the floor below with its old and worn wooden boards.

The cast removed he could now hold on well both to his crutch and the handrail, but minding where he put his feet wasn’t the reason he hesitated to go down the rest of the stairs, not this time. 

It had been a big relief to get rid of the cast at the hospital the day before. Taven had been glad to hear the small bones in his hand and wrist had healed well and that he would most likely regain full strength – such as it was – as well as suffering no means from the complicated fractures in the future. The news about his broken hip, that had also been examined, hadn’t been as good, not in his mind. 

The doctor had told them, though this fracture would take longer to heal, the process _was_ well on its way. He would soon be able to manage without the crutch, and would be fully recuperated in ‘no time’. 

His master had smiled widely at this, looking very pleased and eager. 

To Taven it had felt like he’d been told his life was over. When his hip healed, he would be out of excuses.

Bruno had reminded him it was his one and only job to keep Nickel happy and satisfied, and that he wasn’t the only one who depended on this ability. Everybody around here was. Even if Taven could of course not always control the master’s mood, he _would_ be responsible if he deliberately made it worse. 

By constantly denying his master he was definitely making the man’s mood worse, and if he hadn’t been so badly injured, it would have been worse still, he was sure. Nickel was a good man, after all, who wouldn’t fuck a slave that was sick, or in pain. However, when healed… 

Everybody would be disappointed in him if he didn’t provide. Nickel, the old Head Lord, the slaves, most of who were no longer strangers to him, but familiar faces and names, friends, and maybe even some kind of family. 

It should be so easy to make everyone satisfied with him. He only had to part his legs and put his ass in the air, after all, but the mere thought still made him shake all over, and he wanted to throw up with fear and anxiety. 

Nickel became gloomier, more disappointed and more irritated – barking more and more often at Jonas and even snapping at Eve – the more his injuries healed and the man still wasn’t getting any, Taven thought. The man had been considerably less angry, and much more understanding of his need of space when he’d been newly hurt, and in a lot of pain. 

The, admittedly short-term and temporary, solution was obvious then. Taven fell down these treacherous backstairs and made sure to land on his hip, he’d break it again. His master would be nice and understanding once more, leaving him alone, no unspoken demands for sex. 

No demands at all… from anybody.

Nickel would never suspect it was anything else than an accident – he’d constantly warned about these stairs – and it would give him several more months to get over this stupid fear of being fucked. 

Yes, it was so fucking easy, really, only… it wasn’t. 

Taven put his crutch away and balanced on the edge of the narrow tread, his bad hip turned outward. He hesitated, heart beating hard in his chest. All human instinct within him fought against the very notion. He hadn’t forgotten how painful the first fall had been, or how much he’d hated staying at the hospital where the night nurses swore at him and called him a ‘disgusting little shit’. 

He tried to tell himself it would be all right, that Nickel would make sure they gave him something for the pain, and… Slowly he let go of the cramped hold of the handrail, instinctive fear making him reach for it again in absolute desperation, only to find his hand helplessly flailing in mid air, staring at a wall that seemed to rush past him up the stairs in the strangest way. 

There was a second of breathless and absolute terror, and then… 

Pain.

He blacked out.

\-----o0o-----

He came to at someone patting his cheek while calling out his name and he tried to open his eyes at the insistent demands. Sarah?

“Taven? Oh my God,” she yelled, worry in her voice. “Are you all right?”

He moaned. “N- no,” he managed. He really wasn’t. The pain was so bad, it hurt everywhere, and he wished he could just black out again. No, he wasn’t all right, but he would be, now that Sarah had found him. She would go for help, and everybody would think it was an accident and take care of him. 

Sarah didn’t run off, her face above him so shocked and incredulous. “Why’d you _do_ that?” she said. “Why? Why’d you _ever_ do a thing like that?”

Taven gasped. Sarah knew. That’s not how this was supposed to go. Taven had made sure no one was near the stairs to see him steeling and preparing himself. Someone was meant to find him, yes, eventually, but no one was supposed to see him actually doing it. He’d made _sure_. Sarah knowing was an absolute disaster. Taven couldn’t help bursting out crying, all this pain, for nothing.

“Oh my God, you’re hurt,” Sarah looked truly frightened now. “Don’t… Don’t move! I’ll go get help. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll get help…”

“No!” Taven tried to reach for her. He couldn’t let her go before he made her understand she couldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen, but he hurt so much, he could hardly move, and Sarah was already running off, screaming for the others.

Taven closed his eyes against it all, tears streaming. She would tell, Nickel would figure it out, and his life _was_ over.


	83. All is Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though it does depend a little bit on which character we are referring to, the title might not be as ominous as it sounds.
> 
> /Fran

“How is he?” Roth asked as soon as he opened the front door to his boss, any kind of greeting forgotten in his worry. Nickel had informed him over the phone only minutes ago he was on his way over from the hospital where he’d left an injured Taven, but that’s all he’d said. 

Nickel’s expression didn’t exactly make him less worried. Neither did the fact he’d obviously chosen to come here instead of staying with Taven, which was strange. However, his boss didn’t answer, but indicated he preferred not explaining in the hallway. Roth nodded and gestured to Nickel to go inside, himself stopping by the kitchen to ask Silas, who was tidying up after their breakfast, to make them some coffee. 

Silas’ worried expression seemed a mirror of his own, but the boy nodded in silence and got right to it. 

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?” Roth insisted as they took a seat on the couch, Nickel already leaning over to rub at his temples. How bad was it?

“Taven fell down one of the backstairs,” Nickel said with a grim expression. “He landed on his bad side and re-fractured the hip.” He swallowed hard. “It’s a much worse injury this time. Since the bone isn’t healed, it completely shattered around the plates and screws. They rushed him back into surgery, and… He was in so much pain, Roth.” Nickel dried at his upper lip and drew in a shuddering breath. “They told me he was lucky. He’s black and blue all over, but he didn’t break anything else, and if he’d hit his head in a bad way…”

“Oh my God,” Roth said. He felt so bad for Taven, and didn’t agree he’d been ‘lucky’. The poor thing had had the cast removed only yesterday, his hand and wrist finally healed, and then this happens. How much bad luck could one person have? He shook his head. “Poor little guy,” he said. “An accident like that is sure as hell the last thing he needed right now.”

Nickel went strangely still and silent at his side. “It wasn’t an accident,” he finally said. 

“What?” Roth said. “Are you saying someone… pushed him?” 

“No, of course not,” Nickel said, his voice starting to betray just how upset he was. “They wouldn’t _dare_. No, no one pushed him, he… He did this to himself, Roth; he threw himself down the stairs.”

Roth shook his head. That sounded even crazier than someone having pushed him. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Nickel, why would he…”

“I’m not,” Nickel yelled. “I’m not mistaken, one of the maids _saw_ him.”

Roth raised his hands in a calming gesture. “All right, Nickel, walk me through this. Take it from the start. What happened, and exactly what did the girl see?”

Nickel took a deep breath. “I allowed Taven to go eat breakfast with the other slaves downstairs,” he started, “and I had just started on my own breakfast when one of the maids comes _barging_ in… They never barge in like that; I knew right away that something had happened. 

“I followed her, and he was lying at the bottom of the stairs. I only saw his feet, half the slaves of the house leaning over him, all of them yelling and going on. My heart nearly stopped, I thought he was dead. He- he wasn’t, but he cried so hard when he saw me, Roth, he was in so much pain. I didn’t dare touch him. They- they say you shouldn’t touch, in case there’s a broken neck or spine, and… I called an ambulance. I didn’t dare take him myself, I didn’t know how badly hurt he was, and he wouldn’t talk to me, only cried and cried, and… Well, after the paramedics left, I ordered up a car, to follow them to the hospital, and the same maid comes up to me again, white as a sheet in the face, shaking like a leaf.

“She tells me she spotted Taven go down the stairs, but he was slow and hesitated at every step. She thought his hip might have given him trouble, but that he’d probably take offence at an offer to help, so since he hadn’t seen her, she stayed back, keeping an eye on him only. She said he…” Nickel looked like he tried hard to remember exactly what the maid had described. “He stopped halfway down the stairs ‘to rest’, as she first thought, but then put the crutch away, turned to the wall, balanced on his good leg, and- and… let go of the hand rail.”

Nickel stopped to wipe at his upper lip again with a shaking hand. “The maid was beside herself, terrified I’d punish her for not stopping him in time. She swore she hadn’t understood what he meant to do, until it was too late. I saw how scared she was, if she wasn’t sure he really did do it on purpose, she would never have dared speaking up, risking my anger with such a lie.”

Roth nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They probably wouldn’t dare lying about something like that.”

“Why, Roth?” Nickel said. “Why would he deliberately throw himself down the stairs? Why would he want to kill himself? I don’t understand. He was feeling better. Why now?” He leaned over again and hid his face in his hands. 

Roth’s heart ached for them both. Nickel had told him, without going into too much detail, things had been difficult since the kidnapping – a fact Roth didn’t find strange in the least – but that it was looking up lately. Dr. Cordeaux had medicated the boy; Taven had been sleeping better, and was healing well, physically. 

He hadn’t really believed it would be that easy, and had wondered if Nickel wasn’t in a bit of denial about the whole thing. However, the times he’d seen Taven, the boy _had_ looked better, claiming he was doing fine, and he hadn’t wanted to pressure the slave about it. 

Maybe he should have. 

Obviously, Taven had been worse off than he’d appeared, but there was still something about this that didn’t come across as a suicide attempt to Roth. “I don’t think that’s what he was doing,” he said. 

Nickel seemed willing to cling to any straw. “No?” he said, sitting up straight and turning to him with hope in his eyes. 

Roth shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, if you really wanted to… Then that’s a crazy way to go about it, isn’t it? Didn’t the maid say he walked halfway down the stairs before he let go? If he wanted to be sure to succeed, he’d fall from the top, right, or rather, chose a much more reliable method altogether. Only falling down a few steps most likely won’t do it, and would only cause you a shit load of pain, _and_ draw the attention of people nearby. If he really wanted to die, why didn’t he go somewhere he would be alone, and wouldn’t be found in days? Hell, there’s a whole big forest right behind the house.” 

“You’re right,” Nickel said. “It _doesn’t_ make sense trying to commit suicide in such a way.”

Roth patted Nickel’s shoulder. “Maybe it was a cry for help?” he suggested. “Maybe those pills didn’t work as…”

Nickel tensed under his hand, his eyes going wide. “Oh my God, he _wanted_ to break it.”

“Uh?” Roth said. “What?”

“His hip, Roth, the maid said he turned _to the wall_. Going down that particular flight of stairs, if he faced the wall, it means his bad hip would be turned outward. Taven made _sure_ to land on his hip. He wanted to fracture it.”

Roth shook his head. That sounded completely nuts. No, surely Taven had only been desperate for his master’s attention, and… However, if the maid told the truth, then it undoubtedly did look like… Roth was sorely confused now. Taven could easily have gotten this attention without risking such serious consequences. Hell, a slight stumble down a step or two, and Nickel would have been positively _glued_ to the boy’s side for weeks to come, considering the overprotective tendencies he’d shown lately. 

“I don’t get it,” Roth said. “He hated the hospital; he hates limping about on that crutch, why would he deliberately cause himself several more months of painful healing?”

Nickel put a trembling hand over his mouth. “Because he doesn’t _want_ to heal, he doesn’t want to heal, at all. Oh my God, he doesn’t want to…”

Roth stared. Whatever epiphany Nickel was experiencing, Roth didn’t see it. “He doesn’t want to heal? Why on earth wouldn’t he want to heal?”

“Because he thinks he knows what’s going to happen when… Oh no, oh my God!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making a whole lot of sense right now,” Roth said. “What does he think will happen when he heals?”

Nickel’s dash out of the couch was so sudden Roth flinched back when his boss turned to him with desperation in his eyes. “Sex, Roth,” he yelled. “I’m talking about sex, God _damnit_!” 

Roth blinked, but then the penny dropped, and in a flash, everything made sense to him, as well. “Oh,” he said, deeply saddened.

“Oh my God,” Nickel yelled. “Why? Why couldn’t he have talked to me? He could have said no. I gave him the right to say no, he could have just said _no_.”

“Nickel,” Roth tried, scrambling to find the right words to comfort a friend who was obviously badly pained by such a realization. “You know, it might not be that easy to…”

His boss wasn’t listening. “I would have waited,” he nearly howled, tearing at his hair. “He didn’t have to do this; I would have waited for him. However long it took, I would have waited. He _knew_ he could have said no until he was ready for it, and I would have _waited_.” 

Roth reached out and simply took his boss by the hand. However uncharacteristically intimate such a thing would be between them otherwise, at this moment it seemed the right thing to do. “Please, sit down again,” he said, gently pulling the distraught man down beside him. 

“Um, Nickel,” he started, “listen to me. ‘No’ doesn’t mean the same thing to a slave as it does to us, and I don’t think a paragraph on a paper makes it any easier. Yeah, he might seem rebellious and troublesome to most, disobedient and foulmouthed, but deep down he only wants to please you. Telling _you_ ‘no’ is probably really scary to him.”

Nickel’s eyes darkened in anger and he pulled his hand out of Roth’s comforting hold. “I would _wait_. He _knows_ I would,” he insisted.

Roth sighed deeply. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Nickel further, but he thought he understood this now, and no matter what, his boss needed to hear it. “Would you, Nickel? Would you wait? Yes, you’d wait weeks, months, perhaps even a year or more, but would you wait forever?”

Nickel frowned, staying silent, not understanding, or maybe not wanting to understand. 

Roth sighed again. “I can’t know this for sure, Nickel, so maybe I should just shut my mouth, and it would be miles better if you had this conversation with Taven instead, but… There’s a risk this was it for him, you know. I mean, he might not actually be _able_ to… anymore, and… Ah, damn it! There might not be anything to wait _for_, Nickel. After all that happened to him, maybe he just doesn’t want to have sex anymore, at _all_, with anyone, period.”

Nickel’s eyes were so full of pain Roth had to force himself to go on. 

“There’s a hell of a difference between saying ‘no, not right now, but later’ and saying ‘no, never again’. You’ve done everything for him, Nickel, _everything_. A slave like that wouldn’t dare dream of even a fraction of what you’ve given him. By now, he’d be absolutely terrified of telling _you_ ‘never’, see what I mean. Terrified enough, it seems, to buy himself a few month’s worth of extra time, no matter the pain.”

Nickel was still staring at him only, and it started to make Roth very uneasy. Would his boss insist on denying this very likely possibility to such an extent he’d even break up their friendship over it? For a moment, Roth was able to share some of Taven’s fear of rejection.

“Hell,” he said, smiling a little, trying to ease up the tension in the room. “Even _I_ have trouble saying no to you sometimes.”

It wasn’t even much of a joke, Roth admitted. For all of Roth’s frank openness with his boss, and his ‘telling the lord like it is’-attitude, most of the times, he did end up giving Nickel what he wanted. His boss was just such a genuinely nice and likeable guy, in spite of his flaws. Even as a grown man – who was much stronger than his appearance gave him credit for – Nickel was so vulnerable, giving off these ‘little brother vibes’ Roth’s ‘inner big brother’ found it very hard to resist. Yeah, Nickel had a way of getting under your skin, and you simply didn’t want to disappoint him, somehow. Even now, Roth wanted to take all these words back, give the man a big hug, and chase the hurt out of those damn wide brown puppy eyes.

If _he_ felt like that, Roth could only imagine the pressure Taven was under.

Nickel gave up a choked sound, almost like a sob. “I… I’ve never been hard on him, Roth. Never! Not- not in bed. I’ve never forced him, never done things to him he doesn’t enjoy, never demanded he… I’m not _like_ that. I swear to you, I’d _never_…”

“I know,” Roth assured him. “I know.”

Nickel had never given Roth any details of what went on in his bed, but his boss really didn’t need to assure him he hadn’t been harsh with Taven between the sheets. Roth thought he knew his friend that well. Nickel might have a few sexual quirks, but he would never be rough with a lover, and especially not with a boy like Taven. No, Roth was convinced sex between them had been a slow, gentle and caring process without deliberate coercion.

How could he make Nickel see that in a case like this, all the gentleness in the world would probably not really matter? Regardless of how Nickel tried to handle this, there was no way a slave wouldn’t feel pressured under these circumstances. Even Serenity struggled with this kind of pressure, Roth had finally understood, in spite of the fact the handsome blond concubine was both resilient, surprisingly mentally strong, _and_ didn’t carry half the baggage Taven did. 

“Nickel,” he tried. “I think you have to try to consider this probably isn’t actually about you.”

Again, Nickel only stared at him with the strangest expression, but then he stood up from the couch and simply marched out of the living room, leaving Roth behind with a rapidly sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d said too much, again, hadn’t he? Damn it.

However, Nickel halted only a few steps beyond the threshold and turned back to the living room door. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude. I apologize, I- I’m not myself. Thanks for talking with me. I _am_ glad we talked. It’s only… I need to think this over, and- and… I need to leave, you understand, I’m sure?”

Roth nodded. “Go talk with him, Nickel,” he said.

Nickel looked down and nodded in return, again turning his back with slumped shoulders, leaving the apartment without another word.

Only seconds after the front door clicked shut, Silas turned up in the living room door, with a guilty expression instead of a coffee tray. “I- I’m sorry, Master,” he stammered, wringing his hands in front of him. “I did finish the coffee, I did, but I didn’t dare interrupt. I- I didn’t dare…”

Roth gave the boy an assuring smile and waved him over to the couch. “That’s all right, Silas, you did the right thing. I don’t think a cup of coffee would’ve helped our boss today.”

\-----o0o-----

Coming back to the hospital, he’d been told Taven had woken up from the operation while he’d been pacing the street outside, thinking and brooding. Nickel felt bad. Again, Taven had had to wake up alone, but perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps he was not whom his concubine wanted, or needed, to see, or maybe he was only a coward who was hesitating outside the boy’s hospital room. 

Nickel forced himself to open the door. Taven didn’t turn his head to see who it was, and he remained on the threshold, looking the slave over. It pained him to admit how hurt and broken the boy in that bed really was, and to know that… He walked inside and sat down at the bedside. 

His mattress shifting, Taven finally reacted and turned his head. The boy’s eyes widened and his shaking hands gripped the cover. 

Nickel swallowed hard and looked down at his own hands. “Sarah told me,” he said. 

Taven must have understood what this meant. When Nickel looked up again, there was absolute terror in the boy’s eyes, and the sight broke his heart in a million pieces. Serenity’s words echoed in his mind. ‘_I beg your pardon, Master, but you can be quite a bit more intimidating than you think_’. Roth was right, Taven _was_ terrified of him, and would rather injure himself than tell his master the truth. 

Nickel didn’t know what might have been in his own eyes, realizing there were no denying this any longer, but Taven burst out crying only looking at him, hiding his face under his violently shaking arms. 

“Please,” he sobbed. “P- please don’t hate me; please don’t hate me, _please_...”

“No,” Nickel said, wanting to reach out and take the boy in his arms, his hands halting in mid air, as if they knew before his mind he no longer had the right to touch. “No, Taven, no, I could never hate you, I would never…”

“You hate Serenity. You- you threw him out…” Taven wept, trembling behind his arms.

“No, I… It’s not…” It’s not the same thing, he’d meant to say, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he convince Taven he wouldn’t blame him for this, when Serenity had been nothing _but_ blamed, for the last two years, for being just as innocent.

Nickel couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the guilt, or the heartache. He burst out crying, too, his forehead sinking down onto Taven’s heaving chest. 

He’d done them wrong; he’d done them all so very wrong.

\-----o0o-----

“You broke up the assignment?” Roth couldn’t hide his surprise, sitting up straight in the chair across Nickel’s large desk in the study. When Nickel had left his apartment for the hospital the day before yesterday, he had wondered how his boss would handle things – he’d come out to the mansion this morning only to find out – but he hadn’t expected _this_.

Nickel nodded with a grim expression. “The concubine contract has been legally and bindingly changed. Taven is no longer officially assigned to any Wren clan member.”

“How did he take that?” Roth asked.

“Badly, at first,” Nickel said. “It was difficult making him believe it doesn’t mean he’s lost my support, or is in any way out of my favor, but…” Nickel drew in a shaky breath. “It was the only way to also make him believe there are no longer any obligations to serve me, in any capacity, that… That there really is no pressure to…” He silenced and looked away. “It was the only way.”

He nodded, impressed with how mature Nickel was being about this. Breaking up the assignment was as close to ‘letting Taven go’ as it was legally possible, while still maintaining his contractual responsibilities for the boy. It would have been so easy for Nickel to be selfish – Taven would have had nothing to oppose if his master had decided to stay in denial and keep the slave close – or to ‘get back at the boy’ in some way, but, he’d done none of those things. 

Roth might be one of the few people who understood how much this must cost the young lord. It wasn’t only that Nickel was heartbroken about losing a ‘lover’; his self-image must be severely shaken, as well. Nickel was supposed to be the savior here, making the slave whole and happy in his care, making him trust, making the boy stable under his guidance and fulfilled from his tutelage, giving Taven purpose in serving, and safety in his protective arms. It must sting to admit he was not able to do any of those things. That he could in fact not help. It was probably as big a blow to Nickel’s self-worth as sexual rejection, if not bigger. 

“You did the right thing,” he said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Nickel answered. “I do know that. It… doesn’t make it easier.”

Roth nodded in sympathetic sadness He supposed it wouldn’t. “You’re a good person, Nickel. One day, you’ll find comfort in that fact.”

Nickel’s smile at this was crooked and bitter. He didn’t look like he believed that, but he didn’t protest. “You don’t have to worry about me, Roth,” he said. “I… I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” Roth said. His boss and friend had always been stronger than he looked, he reminded himself. Nickel would be all right.

\-----o0o-----

Roth put the car key in the ignition, but ended up just sitting there, not starting the car, and finally he let go of it and leaned back in the seat with a sigh. 

He needed to leave, really. Roth had plans with Evelyn, decided on days before Taven had taken this latest tumble down the stairs, and he was already running late, but… He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help he felt bad about looking forward to spending time with her when his friend was hurting.

Roth ducked his head to look out the windshield toward the large main entry of the mansion from where he’d just emerged. Maybe, in his eagerness to see Evelyn, he’d been a bit too quick in accepting Nickel’s assurances he’d be fine. 

He shook it and reached for the car key again. He was being silly, and if he walked back in there Nickel would think he was annoying and overprotective. Besides, his boss had put a hand on a swaying stack of paper on his desk when Roth had excused himself, and said he had plenty of paperwork to occupy his brooding mind. He shouldn’t interrupt his boss’ work. 

Roth sighed again and, for the second time, let go of the car key, reaching for the door handle instead, getting out of the car. He just had to make sure Nickel really was okay, or he’d spend the whole day with Evelyn worrying.

\-----o0o-----

No one answered when Roth knocked, and when he opened the study door a crack he noticed right away the lights were switched off. Had Nickel changed his mind about doing the paperwork and left? However, a characteristic creak from Nickel’s large leather chair, told him someone was still in there. Puzzled, Roth swung the door open. 

Nickel was indeed still sitting in his chair, but the large stack of papers had been pushed down on the floor and was replaced with his feet. There was a distinct smell of alcohol in the air, too, and even with the lights off and the venetian blinds drawn Roth could see how the normally perpetually closed showcase, with the vintage whiskey and expensive brandy, was wide open.

“Hey!” Nickel said, raising an already half-emptied bottle in his general direction without looking up. 

“Are… are you drinking?” Roth said. “Right out of the bottle?” Nickel never drank. Not like this, not chugging down hard liquor in the middle of the week, all alone. 

There was a dry laugh from the shaded figure in the large chair. “Well, no need for formality, old friend. It’s only my twenty-seventh birthday, after all. No big deal.” He took a deep and long gulp from the bottle, which ended in a loud coughing fit. “Yep, happy birthday to me,” he managed with a wheeze, drying at his mouth with the back of his hand, voice hoarse.

Roth froze on the doorstep. Oh my God, how could he have forgotten? It _was_ Nickel’s birthday. 

“Nickel,” he tried. “Put that bottle away, and we’ll talk about it. I’ll just… I’ll be back in a sec, okay?”

Roth stepped out into the hallway and closed the door, fishing up his phone. Evelyn would understand him cancelling. Nickel might be all right… one day, but he sure as hell wasn’t at the moment, and today, Roth needed to stay with his friend.

\-----o0o-----

Taven sat down on the bed with some effort, leaning the crutches beside his legs, looking about the room, _his_ room this time, relieved to be back. He was so, _so_ lucky to still have a home here. 

He’d spent a little over two weeks at the hospital. The stay had not only been longer, but also all around harder than the last one. The pain had been worse, the recovery slower, the physical therapy grueling, and the nurses meaner. 

At least it had seemed so to him, though he would admit not all of them were bad. However, many took offence at having to take care of a slave at all, and most of them despised the clans. They might not dare say so openly, for fear of losing their jobs, but they could always call the demanding lord’s ‘spoiled pet’ nasty things, and cause him extra discomfort, when no one was looking. 

On top of all this, he’d been devastated to learn he hadn’t only re-fractured his hip, but managed to damage himself for life. 

He hadn’t understood most of what the doctor had explained to his master, but fracturing the hip again so badly had apparently resulted in nerve damage, which made the leg partially, but permanently, paralyzed. Taven would be stuck with these fucking crutches until the end of his days. What the doctor had told _him_ was that he was lucky not to have ended up in a wheelchair, _and_ to have a master who was prepared to keep such a slave at all. 

Taven hung his head at the memory. That doctor hadn’t needed to tell him just how lucky he was to have a master like that. 

He still didn’t know how Nickel hadn’t only understood why he’d done what he did, but also _accepted_ it. When he’d been told the assignment would be broken up, Taven had freaked out, it was so hard to believe it didn’t mean he was hated and abandoned. When he’d finally understood he was neither, he’d been devastated all over again. He’d caused himself all this misery, pain and damage, when all he could have done was to talk to his master, and tell him the truth. 

The man would have _understood_. 

He couldn’t have fucking known. How could he have thought a free man would be _that_ understanding, accepting rejection, from his own slave, his own _concubine_? He couldn’t have, it was simply not a thing a slave could ever imagine. Not even from a master as weird as Nickel.

Well, whatever miracle had made his master accept a permanent no from his concubine, without repercussions, it couldn’t have been easy on the man. Taven had wanted to tell his master how grateful he was, but things had become so weird, awkward and tense between them. Whenever Nickel came to the hospital to check on his progress, Taven had kept his mouth shut and his head down as much as possible. His master had also spoken very little beyond informing him of practical matters, and had avoided any kind of touches that weren’t necessary. 

Still, as much as he’d longed to go back to the mansion, coming home had been neither uncomplicated, nor without fear and apprehension. He would no longer spend time upstairs, or anywhere with his master, his place was now only downstairs with the other house slaves, and he hadn’t been sure how they would receive him in this new role. 

It was true, he was friendly with a few of them these days, but he was far from close to all of them. It didn’t matter how many conflicts there had been between himself and his master, or how serving his owner had exacerbated his trauma after the kidnapping. Nickel had still been almost his entire world. 

He might not be able to live with his master, but he had no idea how to live without him either.

Being left in the kitchens only moments earlier, standing there before the others, his hands cramping around the handles of his crutches, he’d been as scared as his first day here, but with none of the anger and hate he’d been able to hide behind back then. Rarely had he felt so vulnerable. Taven could no longer run to his master for protection, figuratively or literally, and he was left to these people, for good. Was it strange he expected their contempt? He had nothing to contribute, and would only be a burden to them.

They’d been nothing but nice.

Everyone who had happened to be present had welcomed him warmly, just as the last time he’d come back from the hospital, and that was _without_ their master looking on. They had helped him to his room, he was told they’d bring him lunch, and they had promised him he didn’t have to worry about anything; they’d take care of things. 

From some of their words, and from the whispers and pitying expressions around him, Taven understood they felt sorry for him. In their minds, it was clear what had happened. 

In spite of the redheaded pet’s flaws, their master had worked on him for nearly a year, trying to make him a suitable attendant, personal slave and concubine, never giving up on this idea, until now. 

With a cripple, there wasn’t much to be done, after all, no complete recovery to expect, and nothing else to do than to dismiss such a creature from your personal service, no matter how pretty of an exotic it was. Their master was a kind man who would let the cripple stay downstairs in relative comfort, in spite of his obvious worthlessness, but the redhead _was_ discarded from the master’s personal service, and would probably soon be replaced. 

That’s how the others saw it, Taven realized, and he found himself doing nothing to take them out of this notion. It was a bonus the other slaves felt bad for the ‘fallen concubine’, instead of malicious glee, but he didn’t let them stay in this belief to assure himself of their sympathy, but to protect his master’s dignity. 

He’d done enough damage to it as it was. 

Taven startled at the sudden knock on his door. A part of him hoped it would be Nickel, in spite of the fact he knew it would most likely never be again. Depressed by this thought, he nevertheless cheered up when the door opened a crack and he saw who _had_ come to see him.

Jonas.

Taven gestured for Jonas to come inside, and the garage slave walked up to the bed and sat down beside him, moving the crutches out of the way to make room. 

If someone saw them, they might not have doubted they were happy to see each other, both of them grinning and smiling, but it was an almost comically awkward moment where none of them seemed to know what to say or how to react to this new and strange situation, of which they were both so painfully aware. Jonas kept rubbing his palms on his thighs, and Taven pulled on his braid, their eyes flittering in all directions, but never meeting.

His master had explained the new order of things to Taven already at the hospital, so he would know what to expect, and he knew Jonas had also been informed. 

None of Taven’s issues or problems would disappear, only because the pressure to perform as a proper concubine had been lifted and his master didn’t intend to leave him handling them on his own. If his master couldn’t be with him at night when he was sleepwalking, had an episode of night terrors, or woke from a nightmare, then someone else had to. Taven would still have problems with reading labels on pill bottles, and remembering how many to take of each kind, and when. Someone had to keep track of his medication for him. He needed help adjusting to his disability, as well, and someone to assist in the physical therapy routine the doctor had ordered him to follow on a daily basis. 

His heart had leapt in his chest when his master had revealed – his voice and demeanor so strangely detached – this someone would be Jonas. It was the most logical choice, really, Nickel had said, sounding indifferent. No other slave at the estate knew Taven better, after all. Jonas was obviously already devoted to him, as well, and could easily learn these new duties, too. 

Taven had mixed feelings about the arrangement. On one hand, he was relieved and grateful to have his best friend with him. He was so lost without Nickel, so frightened, confused and rudderless, but with Jonas at his side, everything seemed a little bit less scary. Jonas might not have the power to protect him against a harsh world, but Taven wouldn’t be alone. 

He would _not_ be alone.

On the other hand, Nickel had been very clear; Jonas had officially been given to him as his actual _servant_, something that was apparently fully possible for a concubine to have. Their master had told him Jonas was practically _his_, and Taven was in charge. Whatever he wished of Jonas… 

Taven had bristled at the mere thought. He would trust Jonas to help him struggle through everyday life, but no fucking way would Taven order him around. Taven hated knowing their master had told Jonas this, as well, and that his friend must now feel obligated to obey him. In fact, this aspect of the arrangement made him sick to his stomach, and he couldn’t understand why Nickel had insisted on framing things this way. 

He had to make Jonas understand, no matter what their master had said, Taven wouldn’t allow things to be that way between them. 

It also felt wrong to put this burden on the other boy’s shoulders, at all. Jonas might be tall and strong for his age, but he was still very young – younger than Taven – and wouldn’t be fully relieved from his ordinary duties. Taven’s needs would come first, yes, but Jonas was still Bruno’s ward, and was still meant to take over as chauffeur one day. Was it really fair of him to add onto his friend’s workload like this? 

Taven was conflicted, he wanted… No, he _needed_ his friend with him, but if Jonas didn’t want this, if he thought it would be too much work, then Taven would beg their master to let him off the hook, and send Jonas back to the garage full time, where he liked to stay and enjoyed his job. 

“I…” Taven started, squirming beside his friend. “I’m sorry about this servant-shit. That wasn’t my idea.” He threw a quick glance at Jonas, who surprisingly enough didn’t look nearly as offended at the idea of being his servant as Taven was. 

On the contrary, Jonas was grinning widely and seemed both happy and eager to start. “Oh, I don’t mind,” he said. 

Taven was annoyed. “This ain’t like just hanging out, you know,” he pointed out. “You don’t know… I can be real fucking annoying at night, you have no idea.”

Nothing seemed to be able to put a dent in Jonas’ good mood. “I don’t care,” he said, grinning even wider.

Taven sighed. Yeah, give it a week, or two, at the most, and Jonas would fucking not be grinning anymore. 

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” he said. “I really ain’t that fun to be around, not if you have to take care of me and shit, and- and… You’ll hate me in no time.” 

Jonas’ smile died down, and he looked serious enough when he turned to Taven. “No, I won’t,” he said, sounding dead sure. “You… You have to know how much I… You know I like you. I only wanna be with you. I don’t care in what way.”

Taven closed his eyes, for a fleeting moment some of the same pressure he’d suffered with Nickel came over him. He couldn’t give Nickel what he wanted, but he couldn’t give it to Jonas either. However, in at least one way, this was different. Jonas, he could talk to.

“I… I won’t… I _can’t_ do the whole ‘sex thing’,” he said. “I can’t do it, not- not all the way. It… It ain’t because of you. I like you, too. You know, ’like’ you, like _that_, I do. I have, for a long time, really, but… I just _can’t_, ‘cause- ‘cause of what happened, and…” 

The room turned dead silent, and Jonas turned beet red, staring at his hands in his lap, his ears glowing. 

“I- I’m sorry,” Taven said, squirming. 

“You _like_ me?” Jonas said, seemingly having focused on a completely different part of Taven’s rambling explanation than what he’d expected. “_That_ way?”

Now Taven blushed deeply, as well. “Yeah, kinda,” he murmured shyly, turning away his glowing face. 

“Oh,” Jonas said. “Well, I’ve kinda never done the whole ‘sex thing’ before anyway, so...” he shrugged and grinned. 

Taven looked back in surprise. Jonas was a virgin, an actual real, honest to God, virgin? For a second, or two, Taven felt relieved. Surely, his own much more extensive experience in this field would give him an upper hand here, would make him feel in control of the situation, but, he realized it didn’t. It didn’t matter if Jonas had never been fucked, and that he had been fucked a million times. They were still _both_ blushing and stammering here, not knowing where to look, or how to tell someone you liked them, that way, without sounding like an idiot, and more to the point, what the hell the next step was. 

When Nickel had once made a first move on him, he’d gently kissed him, Taven remembered, so, maybe, that’s what you did next. Taven moved fast, before he had a chance to chicken out, and made a jerky turn on the bed, reaching up and pressing his lips to Jonas’ mouth. 

Jonas turned still, his eyes widened comically, and if possible, he turned even redder. 

Taven sat back, full of insecurity. “Was- was that wrong?” he asked. “’Cause I think I _can_ kiss a little. I mean, if you want to, and…”

Jonas still looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “I- I… I want to,” he stammered. ”If _you_ want it, too, and…”

Taven leaned in again and put a hand at Jonas’ neck. Slightly surer of himself now he pulled the much taller Jonas down and resumed the kissing. He made it deeper and longer this time, the way his master used to do to him, his heart beating hard at how Jonas responded. 

For a fleeting moment, fear came over him, as if he was doing something forbidden. However, Nickel had been clear he could do what he wished. Their master _had_ said so, and, oh, he wished this, so very much. 

Jonas moaned into his mouth, too eager and inexperienced to make anything else than a mess of the clumsy kiss, their teeth clashing and his big nose constantly being in the way. Taven didn’t care the kiss might not be as technically good as the ones he’d shared with his master. Now that he was finally allowed to compare, he instinctively knew the one thing that still made it the best kiss he’d ever had. 

This was _his own_ choice, his very first real choice. 

“Uh, wow…” Jonas said when they finally pulled apart, looking dizzy and giddy. ”Yeah, uh, I’m not gonna mind taking care of you. Um, believe me; I sure as hell won’t mind in any fucking way _ever_.” His whole face was just one huge happy grin, and his ears were still a glowing red.

Taven laughed.


	84. One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bring double chapters today, so... enjoy... I hope :-)
> 
> /Fran

He leaned over the baby carriage he’d been pushing along the garden path and stroke the soft cheek with his index finger. After only a short moment, the baby responded by waking up and looking about sleepily. He stared, lost in the newborn’s round blue eyes, a sight he thought he’d never tire of. 

“Nickel!” Cecilia admonished him behind his back. “Did you just wake him up on purpose?”

“Of course not,” Nickel said, not taking his eyes away from his son’s pudgy little face. “I’m innocent,” he maintained, turning to his wife with a placating smile. 

She gave him a suspicious look, but then her eyes softened and she returned the smile. “I’m taking over,” she declared. “He always falls asleep the soundest when I push it.”

Nickel grinned. There might be some truth to that, since he never could refrain from halting at every other step to admire the tiny bundled up miracle they had created, and in doing so inevitably woke the baby up. He stepped aside, and followed behind as she resumed pushing the baby carriage down the path. 

The arrival of the Wren clan’s next heir had been somewhat… unscheduled. Nine months ago, Cecilia had returned much earlier from her excavation than expected – apparently there had been problems with funding – and had come to pay him a visit shortly after. 

Things had been awkward between them at first, and they had only politely spoken about trivial matters. However, at his suggestion, Cecilia had stayed for dinner, and the wine served with their meal had eventually relaxed them. Nickel had found himself confiding in Cecilia about the whole sad affair with Taven, and she’d been sympathetic. Somehow, later that night, they’d ended up in bed together. 

Looking back, Nickel wasn’t sure if it had happened mostly on his initiative, acting on months of loneliness and frustration, or if maybe Cecilia had become worried their plans would in some way change – her husband to be letting his personal woes influence his thoughts about marrying – and had spontaneously acted to lessen this risk. Maybe it had been about both, or none, of those things. 

Cecilia had become pregnant in any case. This fact had hastened the need considerably for the actual wedding to take place, and it had been a much smaller, and more intimate, ceremony than they had first planned. It had taken place in the Moon clan’s private chapel, with only their closest kin and friends as guests. Roth had been his best man.

Nickel didn’t regret any of it, though he had to admit, it wasn’t always easy to live in an arrangement such as this. 

They hadn’t had sex since. It wasn’t part of the agreement to be intimate outside of producing an heir and Nickel respected their agreement. This fact didn’t stop him from wishing there would be more between them; that something else might one day grow out of their developing friendship. Cecilia was the kind of woman he couldn’t help but admire, and their night together had been pleasurable. Now that he was no longer involved with anyone, he couldn’t help seeing her in a somewhat new light. 

Well, he was keeping any such thoughts to himself. Cecilia had been promised her own life, beside the official one as mother, clan wife, and mistress of the mansion. If _he_ felt differently now, it was his problem, not hers. Besides, Cecilia was flawless in these official roles, and they really were becoming the best of friends, bonding over their son, and in sharing the burdens of running the estate. 

He had absolutely nothing to complain about.

Besides, he couldn’t have made his father happier. The old Head Lord had been so touched at the simple ceremony he’d sniveled constantly into his handkerchief, had given a passionate speech to their future happiness at the small reception, and was practically worshipping his grandson. No expenses were spared when it came to the baby, and he denied Cecilia nothing, no matter what suggestions she made renovating parts of the mansion. 

His father had even stopped complaining about the ‘ridiculous costs’ of keeping a concubine with special needs for decades to come, a slave his son wasn’t even using. He still to this day hadn’t explained to his father what had prompted the sudden breakup of the assignment, and had had to endure the Head Lord admonishing him about his ‘fickleness’ on quite a few occasions. He was still reminded now and then he had better make a bigger commitment than that to his actual marriage. 

Nickel looked over his wife’s shoulder where they walked together in the evening sun, his son rocked to sleep once more by the slow progress over the uneven grounds. He _had_ made a commitment, one that could never be broken. Nickel loved his child with an intensity that almost scared him, and in light of being given such a gift, living in a platonic marriage, and enduring his father’s occasional scolding, seemed a small price to pay.

He smiled at the child, thinking of Roth. He understood his friend so much better now. 

Nickel had been shocked when Roth had first asked to discuss his wishes for Silas. Granted, it hadn’t surprised him awfully much how Roth had wanted freedom for the little slave – he knew what his bodyguard really thought of these things, after all – but it had absolutely astounded him to hear about the adoption plans. 

Flustered, he’d told Roth he’d think about it, and had then avoided any further discussions, at all costs. He’d told himself he must save Roth from making a mistake he would most surely later regret, and that it was for his friend’s own good he pretended not to notice his disappointment. 

Yes, in spite of the fact Nickel had himself once provoked his father by threatening he would free Taven and marry him, when someone was actually serious about legally taking a slave up into their family and give this slave their name, he was as shocked as the most conservative and reactionary of lords. He hadn’t told his friend so, but apart from the boy being a slave, Nickel found it hard to understand how Roth could love Silas as a son in the first place, when the boy was in fact _not_ of his blood.

Now he knew how. 

Ever since Cecilia had told him about the pregnancy, Nickel had, deep down, been suspicious about if he really was the child’s biological father. Cecilia didn’t speak of the men she might be seeing, but Nickel had no illusions about them not existing. He’d counted the days, and had been convinced the date of conception could very well be the same as their night together, but he had no idea if Cecilia had also been with another man around the same time. During the pregnancy, he’d often pondered how to bring this up with Cecilia without offending her, and maybe suggest a paternity test. 

However, being present at the birth, holding the newborn in his arms only minutes later, he’d been so profoundly touched by the experience he’d completely dropped the idea. To hell with bloodlines, Nickel no longer _wanted_ to know. He knew now he would love this child to his last dying breath, no matter what, and that being a father is about so much more than sharing the same genes. 

The day he decided not to demand a paternity test was also the same day he’d asked Roth out to the mansion and told him he wouldn’t stand in his and Silas’ way if they wished to become a real family. He would put his lawyer on it right away, and would provide all documents and signatures they might need to make it happen. They had a difficult journey before them, but he’d promised them his full support.

Seeing the happy and relieved look on his best friend’s face, Nickel had felt ashamed not supporting him in this the day he’d first asked. Considering how much Roth had always done for him, he hadn’t deserved his boss’ initial dismissive attitude. 

Cecilia stopped dead in her tracks before him, Nickel only just managing not to bump into her, distracted as he was by his musings. He looked over her shoulder to see what might have prompted the sudden halt.

Farther ahead, partially hidden by some shrubbery, he spotted Taven sitting on a garden bench.

Cecilia looked over her shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s getting chilly,” she said. “I’d better take him back inside.” She turned the baby carriage around. “You stay if you want, I’ll manage.”

Nickel nodded, his eyes glued onto Taven’s back. Cecilia gave his arm a tender squeeze as she passed him and headed back toward the house. 

Taven didn’t seem to have heard them, and hadn’t moved or turned. Nickel remained for a moment, unable to tear his eyes away. The slave’s hair was down.

Only a few weeks ago, the boy had come to him and asked to be allowed to cut it ‘only a little’. Nickel had said no, absolutely not, and had dismissed him with a strict warning not to even come near it with a pair of scissors, upset and angry with the mere notion. However, eventually he’d conceded Taven’s point the impracticality of it _had_ become hard to defend, and that Taven risked falling and hurting himself since the long braid had a tendency to catch at his crutches. In the end, he’d allowed a ‘manageable length’ they could both live with. The red mass now reached to slightly below Taven’s behind instead of to his ankles, which had apparently resulted in the boy not bothering with braiding it as often as before. 

His hair moved in a light breeze now, and the rays of the low standing sun hit the silky strands in glowing patches, sieved through the evergreen leaves of the shrubbery. 

It took Nickel’s breath away. 

He snapped out of it and moved to walk over to the boy, but halted after only a few steps when he realized Jonas, too, was present at the scene. 

Of course he was.

He watched them for a moment. Even though it was still early spring and quite chilly outside, Taven hadn’t seemed able to resist taking his shoes and socks off to feel the grass between his toes. Jonas was sitting on the damp ground before the bench now and warmed Taven’s small pale feet between his large hands. Taven leaned over and said something Nickel couldn’t catch, and they both laughed, Jonas showing off the braces his master had paid for in a wide grin.

There was such devotion in the garage slave’s whole demeanor. 

Nickel looked away from the scene. It had been almost a year and still he hoped. Hoped Taven would change his mind. Every time the boy asked to speak with him, he hoped it would be to ask for the assignment back. It never was. Usually it was only about informing he was running low on this or that kind of medication, ask when the next appointment with the ‘laser guy’ was, or similar practical queries and concerns. 

He _was_ still convinced letting Taven out of the assignment had been the right thing to do. Nickel regularly checked on Taven’s progress and knew the boy was doing well, considering the circumstances. Taven seemed content staying downstairs with the house slaves, did what he could to help them out in the kitchens in spite of his disability, and was apparently showing some progress in an attempt by Ada to teach him how to cook. Taven had even claimed it was ‘fun’. 

Obviously, the slave _had_ needed a break in their relationship. 

It was more complicated than that, of course. Nickel was well aware nightmares, sleepwalking and bedwetting were issues Taven still struggled with, and they had had to increase his dosage of the anti-anxiety medication. However, living without the pressures and expectations of a concubine, personal slave and attendant had still done wonders when it came to the boy’s wellbeing overall. 

Nickel couldn’t help thinking doing so much better should have made Taven consider coming back to his master, and that the infernal garage boy was the only reason he didn’t. 

He walked up to them, making sure they heard him. Spotting him first, Jonas at once sprang to his feet, stepped back and bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

Nickel ignored him. 

Taven turned his head and looked up, greeting him with a wide smile. “Master!”

Nickel swallowed hard. Taven smiled much more often these days. It was as beautiful as it was painful. 

“Isn’t it a bit too cold outside to go barefooted,” Nickel commented. 

Taven wiggled his toes – not all toes on his bad side moved – and his smile didn’t falter. “I only take them off when I sit down,” he said. “I ain’t gonna dirty the floors, Master, I promise.”

Nickel hardly heard the reply, staring at Taven’s smiling face, framed by his flowing hair. The boy didn’t exactly become less pretty with time, and not even the large scar on the freckled cheek could make that face less enticing. Taven had even filled out a little. Maybe it was Ada stuffing him with food, or the fact that moving about on crutches provided somewhat of an upper body workout, but Taven looked less like a stick thin kid every day, and more like a young man. Granted, the slave before him would probably always stay on the short and lean side, but he was definitely growing out of the gangling teen. 

This did absolutely nothing to lessen his appeal, or made Nickel less frustrated. 

“Well then,” he said, trying not to let on how the sight affected him. “How is your physical therapy going?” 

“Great, Master,” Taven answered. “We’re walking longer and longer. Jonas is taking me all the way around here now.” Taven turned on the bench, indicating the entire route with his outstretched arm. “And I only have to rest two times on the whole round.”

“That’s good, Taven,” Nickel commended him. “You _are_ walking every day, aren’t you?”

Taven looked like he only refrained from rolling his eyes with some effort. “I am, Master, I swear. Jonas ain’t letting me get out of it whatever I try anyway.” He grinned at the garage slave. “He’s _such_ a pain in the ass.”

It would be obvious to anyone these words were only the friendly banter of someone who was close to the one they spoke of. There was such warmth in Taven’s voice when he talked about Jonas, and a seemingly genuine appreciation for the service, care and encouragement the garage slave provided him with. 

Nickel looked over to Jonas, who was still standing to the side, head bowed, not making a sound, fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. He knew he made the garage slave nervous, scared him, but he didn’t care. After all he had done for _him_, Nickel sure as hell wasn’t going to smile and grin at the worker, too, or pretend he liked him. Even this embarrassing need of his to ‘do right’ by these slaves had its limits. 

He wished Jonas wouldn’t be so damn… good. 

Of course, he only wanted the best care for Taven, but if he at least could find _something_ to fault the garage slave with, he’d have felt better. He couldn’t. Jonas tended Taven with such endless patience, obvious admiration and loving care, it shamed even Nickel’s former efforts. On top of this, he still put in work at the garage, _and_ studied for the future driver’s license Nickel had promised him. 

It was all so infuriating, and if he wasn’t convinced Jonas wasn’t getting any more sex than he was, he wasn’t sure he would be able to live with this arrangement. 

Nickel fought down the jealousy. For all his power over these people, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Getting Taven back wouldn’t be worth anything if it wasn’t voluntary, and as it was, one day, the Wren clan concubine _might_ tire of his unattractive servant and ask to be assigned to his master again. Nickel forced them apart now, though, Taven would definitely never come back to him. 

“Well, you’ve rested long enough, I’m sure,” he said, turning back to Taven. “You should finish the round before it gets dark. Off you go!”

“Okay, Master,” Taven said. He reached for his crutches on the ground, but Jonas was there in a heartbeat to pick them up for him. The garage slave knelt down to put on Taven’s socks and shoes, before helping him get up from the bench with a gentle hand under his arm.

Nickel watched as they walked away. Jonas grabbed one of Taven’s crutches and replaced it with himself. The garage slave supported his friend with a wiry and tanned arm around his waist, while Taven struggled to make his bad leg cooperate. Taven’s hair spilled down his back and moved a little in the light breeze, glowing as it caught the rays of the evening sun. 

He was doing the right thing, Nickel reminded himself; he knew he was doing the right thing. 

If only ‘the right thing’ would stop hurting so goddamn fucking much.


	85. Six Months Later

Nickel walked down the corridor in the slaves’ quarters behind the kitchens, giving one of the doors a few raps with his knuckles to alert the inhabitant of his arrival before opening it. 

Serenity looked up at him with widening eyes from the corner he’d retreated into on the bed, fear in his whole demeanor. 

“Relax,” Nickel said, walking inside and closing the door behind him. “I’ve heard nothing from Albert. I told you, you’re safe here. He won’t know where you are.” 

Serenity didn’t seem to relax at this at all, only pulled his long legs up against his chest, and put his arms around them. “He’ll find out, Master,” he said, “sooner or later.”

“Most probably,” Nickel conceded. “That doesn’t mean he’ll barge through the gates to take you away.”

“It was pretty much what you did, Master,” Serenity reminded him. 

Nickel smiled a little. It wasn’t quite how it had happened, but it wasn’t very far from the truth either. 

When he’d gotten Serenity’s call, a little less than a week ago, Nickel had known what had happened before he’d even answered it, because Serenity would never have dared contacting him otherwise – Constantine had passed away.

It had hurt him to realize this. Nickel had always liked the old man, and he’d been a good friend of his father’s since they were both young. However, he’d pushed the sadness aside at the terror and desperation in Serenity’s voice as the slave had reminded him of the promise he’d made a little more than eighteen months ago and at how he begged him to come for him. 

Nickel had not intended to break that promise. Knowing every second might count, he hadn’t wasted time with ordering a car up to the house, but had run down to the garage, throwing himself inside the closest available vehicle, speeding along the dark forest roads behind the estate.

Serenity had later told him he’d left his cottage for Constantine’s bedroom around eleven, as he’d been ordered earlier in the night, and had simply found the old man dead on the floor. He hadn’t faked being upset as he’d run over to Lady Portia’s quarters, giving her and her slave girls a brusque wakeup with his yelling. He’d admitted seeing his master’s dead body had shocked him more than he’d thought it would. However, he’d gotten a grip of himself and taken advantage of the commotion Lady Portia had stirred up to slip away to find his hidden phone.

Nickel had learned a few days later that Constantine, sixty-seven years old, morbidly obese, fond of his smokes and drinks, and ignoring his doctor’s orders since years, had simply succumbed to an all too common stroke. 

All he had known that night, however, was that Lady Portia would call her son before she contacted anyone else, and that if he didn’t get to the Engel Mansion before Albert, Serenity was doomed. 

Serenity had left the house and started to walk, suddenly appearing at the side of the road less than a hundred yards before the main gates, looking like a ghost in the headlights. Nickel had stepped on the brakes and come to a skidding halt so Serenity could throw himself into the passenger seat beside him, and they had only just turned the car around when they saw the other car approaching.

Ordering Serenity to duck down, Nickel had forced himself to keep a normal speed, passing the other car, hoping Albert would be too worked up at the news to reflect over meeting someone on their private driveway at that hour, or to notice who the driver was. It seemed he _hadn’t_ noticed. He’d whizzed past them and through the gates at neck-breaking speed without ever slowing down.

Nickel had successfully stolen the Engel clan concubine right under the nose of the new Head Lord. 

In spite of this success, Serenity hadn’t stopped looking like a ghost since. 

Nickel sat down on the bedside and tried to give him an encouraging smile. “No one was expecting me, I had that on my side,” he pointed out, “_and_ I had your cooperation. Albert has neither. Believe me; I won’t let him near.” 

Serenity looked away and didn’t answer.

“I have something for you,” Nickel said instead, and reached into his pants pocket, fishing up a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Serenity. 

Serenity took the paper, unfolded it and looked at it. “Constantine’s obituary?” 

Nickel nodded. “It was in the paper this morning. I cut it out for you.” 

Serenity had fled with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and had cried when he’d described to Nickel how he’d taken out his diamond studs and put them on a dish on the nightstand before he’d gone to Constantine that night, thus having to leave them behind. 

Nickel had understood. 

He didn’t doubt Serenity’s relationship with the man who had kept him since he was nine had been complicated, but in some ways, the Engel concubine _had_ cared about his assigned master. It must hurt him he had nothing to remember the Head Lord by, not even those earrings that had been Constantine’s first real gift to him.

The obituary wasn’t sufficient compensation for these things, or the fact Serenity could obviously not go to the funeral the coming day, and would most likely never be able to pay his respects at the Head Lord’s grave either, but maybe it was at least something in the way of closure. 

Serenity looked at it for another moment then turned to put it on the table beside the bed, trying to smooth it out a few times before turning back. “Thank you,” he said.

“You know,” Nickel said, changing the subject. “You really don’t have to stay down here in the slave quarters. There are several vacant bedrooms upstairs that are much more comfortable.”

“I’d rather stay here, Master, if you don’t mind.” Serenity said. 

Nickel frowned. “I do mind. You can’t even stretch out properly on this tiny bed,” he pointed out. “For goodness sake, you haven’t left this corridor _once_ since you got here. You need some fresh air, some sun. Just come with me upstairs! I told you, I won’t let Albert through the gates.”

“Someone might see me up there,” Serenity insisted. “How could you stop Albert if he was told I’m here? I’m _his_ property. He’d bring the police and force himself in.”

Nickel sighed deeply. “I won’t blame you if you find it hard to trust me, but try to believe me when I say that Roth and I, we have this covered.” 

Serenity did indeed look like he had trouble believing this. 

Nickel shook his head. “All right, if it makes you feel safer… Stay wherever you wish.”

“Thank you, Master,” Serenity said. “I… I want to believe you,” he added, again looking away. ”But, it’s just so hard to… I don’t understand. Why do you still want to do this? You said you’d never forgive me for taking Taven to the mall, and then Taven… if I hadn’t… He would have never… I _ruined_ your assignment to him.”

Nickel sighed again. Bringing Serenity to the house there had been no reason to keep him away from Taven anymore, and the two of them had had an emotional reunion already the next morning. Nickel had allowed them their privacy, but had no illusions Taven hadn’t told his old friend everything that had happened since they had last seen each other, including Taven, for all intents and purposes, leaving him. Apparently, Serenity blamed himself for this, too. 

Only a few months ago he might have agreed Serenity _was_ to blame for the breakup, at least indirectly, but now… 

Taven showed no signs of wanting to be with him again, and seemed closer than ever to the garage slave. He started to think Serenity might in fact not have been _able_ to break something that had never been whole from the start. 

Nickel still cared deeply for Taven, and for the boy’s sake, he wished Serenity had never had his stupid reckless idea, and that Taven had never gone along with it, but he could no longer find that same anger within him. 

He shook his head. “I _have_ forgiven you,” he said. “Things not working out between Taven and I have much less to do with what happened than it might seem. It _isn’t_ your fault, Serenity.” Nickel got up from the bed; he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Well, I only wanted to give you the obituary, but if you change your mind about coming upstairs, let me know.” He leaned over and gave Serenity’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Try not to worry,” he said. “We _do_ have it covered.”

\-----o0o-----

“I want to set ‘the plan’ in motion,” Nickel said. “Right away!”

Roth gave him a worried frown from the other side of his desk, well aware what plan he was talking about. “’The plan’, eh? Are you sure?” he asked.

Nickel nodded. “Yes,” he said.

“You know, your dad’s gonna have a conniption if you ruin the good relations with the Engel clan.”

“Probably, for appearances’ sake if nothing else, though I’m sure deep down father knows already there _are_ no good relations to have with a man like Albert Engel. He’s never liked him in any case; never looked forward to seeing him as Head Lord. You should have been at the funeral yesterday. Things were frosty between them, to say the least.” 

“If you say so,” Roth said. “You do know this is pretty much blackmail, though, right? Also known as a thing that isn’t quite legal.”

“You had no misgivings about blackmailing Swift into giving us Silas.”

“Okay, you got me there, but what makes you so sure this will even work? Maybe he doesn’t care if this is known.”

“You know south-enders, I know the clans. He’ll care,” Nickel said. “He plans to go in his father’s footsteps and make a name for himself in politics. If this gets out he’ll lose a lot of clan support, believe me.”

“Yeah, the clans _would_ care about stuff like that, I suppose… Still, I’ll ask you one more time, Nickel; do you really want to do this?”

“Would _you_ like to be the one handing Serenity over the day Albert comes for him?” Nickel asked.

Roth grinned at him and shook his head. “God,” he said. “I’ve created a monster. Okay, I’ll set it up; just let me get my laptop from the car.”

“Great,” Nickel said, smiling at his friend. He could always rely on Roth. “I guess I’ll just call Albert then, and let him know I have his property.”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel sat down on the garden bench and stretched his legs out, leaning back with a yawn. It had been an intense few days, to say the least, and he was tired. Tired, but relieved. He hadn’t really been as confident their plan would work as he had acted before Roth, but it _had_ worked.

Already a few days after he’d first heard of Albert’s plans regarding Serenity, Taven telling him everything from his hospital bed, he’d put Roth on finding something on Albert they could use against him, and they’d been sitting on this material ever since. 

It hadn’t taken Roth long at all to find something. In fact, it had hardly been a challenge for the former private investigator to find out Albert constantly cheated on his wife, and regularly visited a few free female prostitutes in the city. 

Well, this in itself would hardly have been enough to turn the clans against Albert. Cheating on your wife with prostitutes was almost expected of a lord. Certain discretion was preferable, by all means, but it wasn’t like it would ruin the man’s life if it became widely known. Hell, a man needed some variation, right? Many lords would be sympathetic. 

No, they couldn’t stop there; they needed to find out more. They had. To their absolute non-surprise they’d learned Albert was often rough and brutal with these girls, even having sent a few of them to the hospital, which meant most of them had been too scared to talk to Roth at all. However, a few of them had practically jumped at the chance to ‘get even with the asshole’, and had had no qualms about revealing the lord’s other side. 

Apparently, the fact that Lord Albert Engel was a brutal asshole, who enjoyed hitting and humiliating the girls he slept with, was in no way a hindrance when it came to being a complete and utter sub to these same women, in other sessions. The girls had called him a ‘switch’. 

Roth had arranged with these prostitutes to film a few such sessions with a hidden camera, giving them a handsome sum for their troubles. 

Nickel shuddered, wishing he could un-see the resulting screenshots. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed the view of the current Engel Head Lord with his ass in the air, dressed in lace lingerie, being fucked with a huge strap-on by a girl half his age, and that had been one of the nicer pictures.

A part of him felt bad they had used these pictures to blackmail Albert with. Not because he felt sorry for Albert, but because it rubbed him the wrong way someone’s personal _sexual quirks_ should be such an effective mean to get at them, when their cheating on their wives and their brutality against women _weren’t_.

That’s the clans for you, Nickel thought with a cynic sneer, and there was the one thing in Albert’s repertoire they’d never let him forget – having a woman fuck him. 

Well, Nickel had called Albert and told him he could stop looking for Serenity, the concubine was with him, and he was _not_ going to give him back. 

That had gone over as well as one could expect. Albert had been furious. Nickel couldn’t help grinning at the memory. He didn’t think he’d ever been subjected to such a barrage of curses and invectives, and that included his first days with Taven. Nickel had taken the verbal abuse in stride, and with the smug confidence of a man with a plan. In fact, he had quite enjoyed telling Albert about the little motion picture he was starring in after that. 

He’d informed Albert he was prepared to post this video in all the right places online as he was speaking. If Albert didn’t agree with his plan regarding Serenity, then all it would take were a few keystrokes, and Albert could kiss his political career goodbye and a large amount of his friends and allies in the clans with it. Would the pleasure of torturing the poor Engel concubine really be worth such an outcome? 

Albert had followed this up with more and worse curses, but in the end, he’d agreed. No, it wasn’t worth it to him, and whatever Nickel wanted, he’d better spit it out so they could ‘get it the fuck over with’. 

Before he’d made that call, Nickel had given some thought to exactly what he would demand of Albert. He hadn’t been able to consult Serenity on his wishes, since he didn’t want to tell the slave beforehand in case something would go wrong, but he thought he knew what Serenity _didn’t_ want. Serenity wouldn’t want to stay with anyone in the Engel clan, no matter any coerced promises from Albert he wouldn’t hurt or harass him. No, Serenity would want to stay here at the Wren Mansion, of that Nickel was certain. He’d much rather belong to _him_, of course he would. 

This wasn’t actually Albert’s decision to make, though, no matter how they blackmailed him. Serenity couldn’t legally belong to Nickel as long as he was the Engel clan’s concubine, and Albert didn’t have the power to change that. 

However, the courts did.

Nickel thought of all the times he’d scolded Serenity for behaving badly, wishing the mischievous slave would finally learn and better himself. He would never have thought he would one day be glad for the Engel concubine’s reckless and rebellious nature. 

Serenity’s ‘crimes’ – a list of which Nickel had sent with Albert to the magistrate’s office – had reoccurred persistently enough they had agreed to annul the concubine contract and leave his master to punish him as they saw fit. With Serenity turned back to an ordinary slave, Albert had now been free to write the ownership of him over to Nickel, which he’d grudgingly done. 

For the prize of a few seedy screenshots, Serenity had finally become his legal property.

Nickel only waited for the signed papers to arrive in the mail now, and things would be finalized. 

Yes, the whole thing could safely be considered finished and out of the way, apart from telling Serenity he was no longer a concubine, of course. Nickel winced at this thought, suspecting that, no matter what, Serenity would take the news badly. 

Well, Serenity would eventually understand there had been no other way, Nickel was positive. He would be upset at first, yes, but then he’d realize it was worth losing his status over the safety of belonging to him. 

It wouldn’t make much of a practical difference in his life, anyway, Nickel thought. He’d compensate the ex concubine. Yes, he would let Serenity have the biggest and best bedroom upstairs, and would pay to redecorate it any which way Serenity fancied. He’d buy him a new wardrobe, too, suits, vintage dresses, luxurious silky underwear… Whatever Serenity desired he’d let him have it. Jewelry, make up, even sex toys, his own chambermaid, a nice slave boy to serve him... Serenity only had to point at things and Nickel would give it to him.

He hoped that the luxury and comfort would serve as compensation for restricting his movements in the future, as well, because he _would_ have to do that. Serenity would understand it was for his own good. 

Nickel couldn’t allow him to use the cars to go anywhere outside the estate on his own. Neither could Nickel keep ignoring any kind of bad behavior, or Serenity acting above his station. Both himself and Constantine had been naïve and sloppy about such things in the past, and it was a mistake that Nickel didn’t intend to repeat. It was especially important, now that Serenity was no longer protected by his concubine status, as well as having the authorities’ eyes on him after the annulment, he didn’t allow the slave to take any kinds of risks out there. 

He couldn’t lose him. Nickel just could _not_ lose him, too. 

Serenity would understand.

Yes, he would tell Serenity, but… not quite yet, not at this moment, not tonight. He should wait for the papers, in any case. Serenity would want to see them. 

Convinced he was doing the right thing; Nickel got up from the bench, and walked back to the house. 

He _would_ tell Serenity everything as soon as the papers arrived, but tonight Nickel wanted to see him about a completely different matter, and he needed to do this before the papers. The last few days, worrying intensely his plan might not work and knowing he could in fact lose Serenity permanently, he had realized he wanted… Well, he wanted Serenity back, as a lover.

They were both so… lonely. Surely, Serenity would feel the same. 

Nickel swallowed hard, nearing the kitchen door. He wasn’t at all confident Serenity would welcome him back in this capacity with open arms, and he admitted to himself he was scared to face the slave. Nickel might have forgiven Serenity, but had he ever even considered if Serenity was at all able to forgive _him_. 

He’d falsely accused Serenity of cheating, after all, denied him the comfort he would have needed, and sent him back to a life where Albert had constantly threatened him. Of course, Nickel hadn’t known, he’d been deceived by Albert, but this excuse rang hollow in his ears. Serenity would have explained what was really going on, had Nickel only stopped to listen to him. 

Serenity might not at all be open to the suggestion they get back together, and he admitted this was the real reason he was reluctant to tell Serenity he was no longer a concubine and had been stripped of all his privileges and rights. 

No matter how it scared him, Nickel needed the truth this time, and couldn’t stand the thought of Serenity simply complying with his wishes only because he didn’t dare reject him, the way Taven had. 

Nickel needed Serenity to believe he still had the right to say no. 

He sighed as he reached for the door handle and stepped inside the kitchens, finding his way to the slave room where Serenity still insisted on hiding. He could just hear Roth’s objections and arguments, knowing exactly what his friend and bodyguard would say. ‘Taven has that right, too’, he’d point out, ‘and he still didn’t dare tell his master the truth’. These rights were only paragraphs on paper, after all, but masters were real flesh and blood, with the power to hurt their slaves in so many ways, no matter the law. 

Nickel shook these thoughts, refusing to consider any objections further. Roth might be right, but this was different, he was convinced it was. This was Serenity, after all. The handsome slave might have been pushed to his knees by everything that had happened in the last years, but he wasn’t broken. There was still something of the confident and the proud in there.

Besides, Serenity might not have trusted him back then, but he must now. Surely, by promising his support that day in Serenity’s cottage, in spite of what the slave had done, as well as making good on this promise now, he must have proven himself. 

Taven, through no fault of his own, had never been able to understand who his master really was, no matter how Nickel had tried to prove himself, but _Serenity_ must know he would never trample on the rights the ex concubine still thought he had, or hold a rejection against him. If Serenity hadn’t been entirely sure before, then having spoken to Taven, he now would be. Taven would have told Serenity Nickel hadn’t held it against him. 

Right?

Determined and apprehensive in equal measures, Nickel pushed open the door to Serenity’s room. This time around, Serenity _would_ trust him, and Serenity was strong, with the concubine privileges at his back; _he_ would dare reject him, so surely, Nickel could trust a possible ‘yes’. 

He refused to believe anything else. 

Serenity looked up at him from his spot on the bed when Nickel stepped into the room. As usual, the expression in the wide eyes was a mix of fear and hope.

Nickel pushed back the bad conscience, smiled and shook his head, as if there was yet no good news, but also no cause for alarm. He would tell him, later. Tomorrow. The papers would surely arrive in the mail tomorrow.

Serenity sank into the pillow he’d placed behind his back, and said nothing, the worry in his eyes only slightly abating. 

Nickel said nothing either, remaining by the door, looking Serenity over. Maybe the last few years had affected Serenity worse than Nickel had wanted to admit. Serenity had lost a frightful amount of weight, hadn’t he, his face gaunt, and his blue eyes, which used to be so bright and lively, were dull and shaded by dark circles. 

It didn’t matter. He was still remarkably beautiful.

Serenity looked up again, frowning, puzzled at his staring, no doubt. Nickel sat down at the bedside. 

He’d been thinking about what to say and had settled on a few different options of how to start this conversation, but now that he was here, not a single word came to him. Nothing seemed a good way to ask what he wanted to ask. Instead, acting on an impulse, he scooted closer and lifted a hand to Serenity’s face. 

Serenity flinched at the movement, a barely visible twitch that didn’t escape Nickel, but he didn’t try to pull away. Nickel ventured further then, gracing a sharp cheekbone with his knuckles, trying to be as tender as he possibly could. Gently he caressed Serenity’s lower lip with his thumb, sensing how the slave went still as a statue at his touches. 

Nickel leaned in closer. “I… I wanted to ask you,” he started. “I wanted to… Could you possibly… forgive me? Could you maybe try again? …With me?”

Serenity didn’t answer, and still didn’t move.

Nickel pulled away a little, forcing himself to look Serenity in the eyes. “I _need_ you, Serenity,” he tried. He was begging, and he didn’t even care.

Finally, Serenity smiled. It was shaky, but it _was_ a smile. Nickel waited anxiously, his fingers, still touching Serenity’s cheek, trembled.

“Yes,” Serenity said. “Yes, I… I could, I can.”

Nickel couldn’t hold back then, he pulled Serenity into his arms and clung to him, kissing him fiercely, laying them both down on the bed.

Desperately, he tore at his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add that, no, I don't consider the end of this chapter cute and romantic. I do realize there is a bunch of problematic aspects to this, and, yes, it will be brought up again.
> 
> /Fran


	86. Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freedom comes with a price...
> 
> /Fran

Taven made a slow way over to his favorite garden bench on his own; having succeeded in convincing Jonas he would be all right making the short walk without him. He sat down and looked about, taking a few deep breaths of crisp air. The leaves had started to turn, but some of the summer heat lingered still. It was nice out here today. 

“Hey!” one of the gardeners called out, passing by carrying a rake over his shoulder, greeting him with a nod to his head and a wide grin. “Enjoying the sun?”

Taven shook his head. “I’m waiting on a friend,” he explained. 

“Oh! Have a nice time then!” the gardener shouted over his shoulder as he walked on, endlessly grinning.

Taven smiled back. Most of the workers were still a bit shy around him – discarded or not, he _was_ still a concubine – but not this one. He always waved and grinned, and tried to steal a few moments of small talk. Of course, he was new here, new to the clans, and didn’t know better. The guy, a worker in his early twenties by the name of Jesse, had been brought to the estate mere weeks ago, and had been put to work in the gardens. 

He found this strange for at least two reasons. First because he’d heard his master complain about the extensive gardens on quite a few occasions and how he really wanted to scale it all down. Why would he get more gardeners then? Secondly, because Jesse had been in a fire accident, and had quite the hideous scarring on the right side of his face and on his right shoulder and arm. Not only did it look horrible, and was, though mostly healed, apparently still quite painful, but the excessive scarring also meant he’d lost some movement in that arm. He wasn’t able to put in even half as much work as the other gardeners. 

In spite of this, Jesse always seemed happy, and soldiered on as best as he could. On one occasion Jesse had told Jonas – upon asking where he came from – that he’d spent years trapped in a sweatshop, never let outside, and no matter how he struggled to be of use here now, he loved being in the gardens so much it was worth all troubles. Taven liked him, even if he was kind of weird. Once, Taven had asked him the same thing, where he had been before coming here, but to him Jesse had only grinned widely and said he’d been ‘thoroughly baked and then sold in a biscuit factory’, which was a real fucking weird thing to say, wasn’t it? 

Soon after, Taven spotted Silas approaching, and startle at the loud and enthusiastic ‘hey’ he received as he passed the departing Jesse. Taven grinned, one of these days he would have to explain a few things to Jesse. 

Taven had been happy when his master had informed him Silas would visit and had been eagerly waiting all morning, but when his old friend came up to the bench and sat down beside him, things still turned awkward. He never quite knew how to behave around Silas these days, or what to say.

If Silas noticed, he didn’t let on, giving him a warm smile. “Good to see you,” he said. “Did I make you wait?”

Taven shyly smiled back. “Nah, it’s all right, the weather’s nice.”

“You look well,” Silas continued. “How’s your leg?”

Taven looked at his crutches, leaning against the seat of the bench. “It’s as good as it’s ever gonna get, I guess,” he answered. “Still taking a lot of painkillers, but I’m getting around fine. I ain’t fast though.”

“That’s good,” Silas said, and then it turned silent between them. 

Taven glanced at Silas. He had trouble getting over how different the former slave looked. Of course, at nineteen, Silas wasn’t a kid anymore. Naturally, he would look different. Granted, much like himself, Silas would probably never be a beefy kind of guy, but he’d still had a real growth spurt and was now quite a bit taller than Taven. However, Silas growing up wasn’t it. It was his hair, Taven thought, or rather, the hair not being there. 

He had been stunned when he’d seen the shorthaired Silas for the first time, feeling vaguely nauseated at the sight, and thinking he’d freak out if he too would be made to look like that. Yes, he _had_ asked his master to get to keep his hair a little bit shorter, but it was only to make it easier to move about. The extremely long braid had caught in his crutches, and it had just been such a fucking hassle. His master had been angry with him, but he’d misunderstood. Taven had never wanted to cut it completely, not the way Silas had. What would he be without the long red hair? Only a cripple you kept for sentimental reasons, worthless even as a mere ornament.

Of course, if you were free, you were automatically worth something, no matter what you looked like or what you were. Silas hadn’t needed his exotic attribute anymore, and no one had made him cut it. Looking normal had been his own choice, and he’d described to Taven just how eager he’d been to do it.

“I ran into Serenity on the way in,” Silas said, again trying to get the small talk going. “He’s just so handsome, isn’t he? Always so smartly dressed.”

Taven smiled a little and nodded. Serenity had been a wreck when he’d been brought here a few years ago, but he’d sure shaped up since. He took as much advantage of their master’s generosity as he possibly could, and practically wallowed in expensive outfits.

“Isn’t it, you know, weird to have him here?” Silas asked.

Taven shrugged his shoulders. “Nah!” he said. It was, but he didn’t have the words to explain. He couldn’t relate how he felt this almost-jealousy in the most unexpected moments as he saw Serenity with Nickel, only to be relieved in the next second Serenity _was_ here, serving their master the way he never could, easing his bad conscience. 

There were things about his time with their master he couldn’t help miss, things that Serenity now had instead of him, but at the same time, he was happy to have Serenity here. Serenity and he, they were close in ways he was with no one else, not even Jonas. Besides, he knew, in spite of everything, Serenity had never stopped being in love with Nickel. How could he begrudge Serenity some happiness, when he himself had Jonas? 

Yeah, it was complicated.

Silas seemed to sense he didn’t want to talk about it. “Oh,” he said instead, sticking his hand down a brown paper bag he’d been carrying, as if he just remembered he’d brought it. “I got you something.” He pulled a wrapped present out of the bag and held it out to Taven.

Taven took it. “For me?” he said. “Why?”

Silas seemed a little embarrassed. “Read the card,” he said.

Taven pulled the card out of an envelope taped to the gift and opened it. “Co- co… Congratu… gratu… lations! On your twenty second… birthday…” He looked up from the card. “Um, that was like a week ago.”

Silas looked mortified. “I know! God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t forget, really, I didn’t, it was just… It’s really, really hard to get into that school. The interview was the day after. I had to prepare. I had to study. I’m sorry, but there’s just _so_ much to catch up on, I can barely find the time to sleep and eat. I really meant to come earlier. I meant to call.”

Taven looked down at the gift in his lap, he understood, he really did. It must be hard, learning so much new stuff, and not only for school. Silas had to learn a completely new life, from scratch. He didn’t know how the young ex-slave did it. Himself, he would have been terrified. 

“So, how did it go?” he hurried to ask, hoping to deflect Silas from making more uncomfortable excuses. “The interview, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Silas said with a sigh. “I won’t hear from them for a while yet. I’m so nervous I could die, but father says just to relax. He thinks I did well. Myself, I’m not so sure.”

“Um…” Hearing Silas calling Mr. Roth ‘father’ was still so weird Taven forgot what he was going to say, and scrambled to find the words again. “Uh, I mean, uh, I’m sure he’s right. It’s gonna be fine. You’re all kinds of smart, and shit. They’re gonna let you in, for sure.”

“I do hope so. Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Silas said; changing the subject back to the present Taven was still holding in his lap.

“Oh! Yeah...” Taven put the card down on the bench between them and tore the wrapping paper off.

It was a book, a cookbook. Taven stared, letting his fingers glide over the glossy cover. He’d always disliked reading, but he had a notion he would genuinely enjoy leafing through _this_ book. He could learn some cooking stuff on his own and surprise Ada. She’d like that. He smiled. It was nice of Silas to think about what he might actually want. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said. 

Silas seemed to freeze up completely at his side. 

Taven winced and didn’t look up from the book. He hadn’t meant to say that, it had just slipped out. However, now that it had been said, the wall that had existed between them ever since Silas had gained his freedom was impossible to ignore anymore. 

“I… You don’t have to call me that,” Silas said.

“Yeah, I kinda do, actually,” Taven argued, not knowing where his sudden anger came from. “You wanna be free, get used to it!” he snapped.

Silas looked away, his cheeks reddened. “It… It doesn’t have to be different,” he said. “Not between you and me.”

Taven sighed. He knew it just wasn’t true. This society wouldn’t _let_ things stay the same between them. “You remember that time I gave you a black eye?” he said.

Silas looked puzzled, but he nodded.

“If I did that again now, you could have me killed.”

Silas was silent for a long time and when he finally spoke; his voice was strained and choked. Hurt. “I- I’d never do that. You _know_ I would never do that.”

“I know,” Taven said. “I know you wouldn’t, but you _could_. Things _are_ different now. It doesn’t help you pretend they ain’t.”

Silas didn’t answer, he stared straight ahead, his hands in his lap trembled, and there were tears on his cheeks. 

Taven put a hand over Silas’ and squeezed them. “Thanks for the book,” he said. “I really like it.”

Silas gave his hand a short squeeze in return, but then he pulled free from Taven’s grip and dried at his face with his sleeves. “I have to go,” he said. “Father’s in a hurry, he’s picking up Miss Evelyn.” He stood up from the bench, turned and leaned over to give Taven a long and hard hug. 

Taven hugged him back.

“I’ll come back soon, okay?” Silas promised.

Taven nodded. “Okay.” He smiled.

He knew Silas wouldn’t. There was longer and longer between his visits and one day he would probably stop coming at all. He’d be accepted into that school, and would be very busy for several years, and then he’d graduate. He’d learn to become a free man, adjust, and move somewhere else, where no one knew he had once been a slave, where he could forget. Silas would get a job, maybe meet a girl and get married. He’d send Mr. Roth Christmas cards, and if Taven was lucky, Silas would include a message for his old friend, too, at the bottom. ‘Tell Taven I said hi,’ it would say.

There was a wall between them, and new bricks were added as they were speaking.


	87. Openings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will get another double posting tonight, as you can see, and - my goodness - that leaves only one chapter next week, and the story will be at an end. But, this is, at least, not quite the end just yet. I hope you'll enjoy. :-)
> 
> I am also apologizing for not having quite managed to reply to all comments yet from last week. Again, I've had a bit of a busy week. I will try to catch up on everything in the coming days. Thanks everybody who still leaves me comments. :-)
> 
> /Fran

Taven stopped outside Serenity’s bedroom, putting his forehead against the door, leaning heavily on his crutches, trying to catch his breath. His hip ached something fierce. Since injuring his leg a second time, climbing stairs was really not one of his favorite things. 

Gathering himself, he stepped back and knocked. 

Serenity answered the door wearing nothing but some skimpy underwear, a blue silk robe, open at the front, and a bored and languid expression, though his eyes widened when he saw the state Taven was in. 

“For goodness sake, Taven… Come sit down!” He took Taven by the arm and steered him into the room. Quickly, he pushed a massive pile of clothes from a large upholstered chair onto the floor and had Taven sit down, taking his crutches.

Taven looked about, rolling his eyes. The evicted pile of clothes hardly even registered in the overall mess of the room. It looked even worse than the last time he’d been in here. Their master had suggested – insisted rather – Serenity have a maid of his own, on numerous occasions, Taven knew, but strangely enough, Serenity kept refusing. As lazy as Serenity was, Taven had thought he would jump at the chance of someone serving him like that, but… no.

“What the fuck are you doing, walking up all these stairs by yourself?” Serenity chided him, pulling his attention away from the cluttered and dusty room. “Nickel will freak out if you injure yourself again.”

“I ain’t fucking made of glass,” Taven sneered. “I wanted to see you.”

Serenity rolled his eyes. He fetched a glass of water from his en suite bathroom that he pushed in Taven’s hands. “Why didn’t you just _order_ me downstairs then?” he huffed.

Taven gulped down the water. Technically, he was the highest ranked slave in the house. He actually could give Serenity orders, at least under some circumstances, and he would have to obey. Serenity loved to point this fact out, at any and all opportunities. Obviously, it irked him, which, in its turn, irked Taven. He wasn’t ordering anyone around, certainly not Serenity, and the blond ex concubine fucking _knew_ that. He ignored the snide remark, taking a few more gulps from the glass.

As it must have been clear Taven wasn’t going to take the bait, Serenity soon turned back to fussing over him, sitting down in front the chair on a footstool and putting Taven’s bad leg in his lap. “You have to be careful with this leg, you know,” he said, starting to massage it through Taven’s pants. 

Taven couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. Serenity was so fucking good with his hands.

Serenity grinned at the effect of his ministrations. “Well, as good as I am at this, I hardly think you came all the way up here only for a massage, so… What’s on your mind?”

Taven didn’t answer. He didn’t know where to start, and wasn’t sure Serenity would understand, since it was very unlikely that _he_ had the same problem.

“This isn’t about Jonas, is it?” Serenity asked, his blue eyes glimmering with curiosity.

Fucking Serenity, always managed to ‘read his mind’. “I guess,” Taven muttered. 

“Oh?” Serenity looked eager now, leaning over his leg as if to make sure not to miss a single word. “You’re not having problems, are you? Judging by the way that slave hangs on your every word, and follows at your heels like a lovesick puppy, I would have thought everything was just peachy.”

Taven sighed deeply and looked down at the hands in his lap. “That kinda _is_ the problem,” he said.

“What, that the guy practically worships you? Well,” Serenity shrugged; the blue silk sliding down his pale shoulders. “If you’re tired of him, then kick him out! Just ask Nickel to get you another. It’s not like he would deny you a new servant if that’s what you want.”

“I ain’t tired of Jonas,” Taven snapped. “And don’t you talk about him like that! He ain’t a fucking puppy, and he ain’t my _fucking servant_ either.”

Serenity pulled back in indignation. “Sheesh,” he said. “Yes, _Sir_!”

Taven sighed and hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This shit’s just driving me fucking nuts. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Serenity never seemed to hold a grudge. He leaned in again, with a concerned expression this time. “What’s the problem then?” he asked. 

“Promise you ain’t gonna tell anyone,” Taven said. 

“Oh, you wound me,” Serenity said, pouting. “I never tell anyone what we talk about, you know that.”

Taven nodded, he did know that. Serenity really wasn’t as unreliable as some seemed to think. Taven had always been able to trust him with the serious stuff. It didn’t mean this was easy to talk about.

“You know; Jonas and me…,” he started. “We never… You know… We… We’ve never had sex, okay.”

Serenity stared, looking completely flabbergasted. “You…? You’ve never…? Wow! How long have you been together, again? Four years? _Wow_!”

Taven turned beet red. He’d known Serenity wouldn’t understand, not when he and their master were fucking all the time, like fucking rabbits on steroids. 

“Uh, so how come?” Serenity said, seemingly trying to be at least somewhat delicate about it. “Is it that Jonas…?

“No,” Taven yelled. “It ain’t _his_ fault. Don’t you dare say he ain’t good-looking enough, or any shit like that, ‘cause it ain’t true, get it. It ain’t ‘cause of him, it’s all me. It’s _my_ fucking fault.”

Serenity only gave him a worried expression, saying nothing. 

Taven hung his head again. “It ain’t because of him,” he repeated, “and I’ve told him that, a million times, but I ain’t sure he believes me anymore. He always _says_ he understands, but he’s been kinda sad lately.”

“Sad?” Serenity blurted out. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the word. Try ‘horny like fucking hell’. Four years! Talk about a bad case of blue balls. Man, the guy has to be ready to explode all over the place.”

Taven moaned, and shrunk in the chair. Serenity’s words stung. He didn’t deserve a man like Jonas, didn’t deserve his endless patience and understanding. 

“Oh, Taven, no,” Serenity said, patting his leg in comfort. “Don’t take it like that, I was just… You know me, blurting out stupid jokes at the most inopportune of times. I didn’t mean to make you feel worse about it.”

“But I _am_ hurting him,” Taven said. “I don’t wanna hurt him anymore, but, I just _can’t_, you know. I can’t do… it.”

Serenity nodded with a grim expression. “Because of what happened?” he asked, “Because we went to the mall?”

Taven sighed and shook his head. It didn’t matter what he said, Serenity would blame himself for that until the day he died. “Not only ‘cause of that,” he tried to explain. “I had some real problems with it before, too, just never got it I didn’t have to do it, know what I mean?”

Serenity nodded again. “And now that you know you don’t _have_ to…”

“I can’t get myself to do it again,” Taven filled in. “Why can’t I just get over it? It’s like I’m fucking mental in the head, or something. Swift died years ago, why can’t I just forget all that fucking shit?”

“Um, I don’t think that’s possible,” Serenity said. “You have to learn to live with it.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that either,” Taven sneered. He hid his face in his hands. “It made me fucking worthless to Master,” he said. “And now I’m fucking worthless to someone again.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Serenity protested. “Nickel doesn’t think that, and I’m pretty sure Jonas doesn’t either. This isn’t your fault, Taven, they know that.”

Taven looked up in desperation. “They did shit to you, too,” he said. “Why ain’t you totally mental, like me? How do _you_ do it?”

He rarely saw Serenity at a loss for words, but he seemed to be now. The ex concubine stared at him for the longest time with an unreadable expression, but finally shrugged his still bared shoulders and gave him a crooked smile. “I… don’t know,” he said. “I just love him, I guess.”

“_I_ love Jonas,” Taven pointed out.

Serenity cocked his pretty head and gave him another smile, surprisingly tender this time. “Aw,” he said. “Look, Taven, everybody is different, and deal with stuff in different ways. You don’t have to do things the same way I do. Besides, I think you’re having a lot of fears completely unnecessarily here, only because you think sex has to be certain ways, know what I mean?”

Taven shook his head; he had no idea what Serenity meant. 

Serenity seemed to search for a better way to explain. “Okay,” he finally said, brightening up. “Jonas, he’s a big guy; does he have a big cock too?” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Taven said.

“No, I’m serious,” Serenity assured him. “Just bear with me for a little while. You have to have seen Jonas naked. You take showers and stuff? So, _is_ he big?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Taven said, his cheeks heating up, still not getting where Serenity was going with this.

“Right! You’re afraid of being penetrated. You’re terrified it’s gonna hurt. Tear you, like, when…”

“Yeah,” Taven muttered. “Is that so fucking weird?”

“No, it’s not,” Serenity said; pity in his eyes. “It’s not weird at all, but… Just answer me this, Taven. What’s sex?”

“Uh, what the hell kinda question is that?”

“Humor me,” Serenity insisted. “Finish the sentence! Sex is…”

“…getting fucked…?” Taven said, more confused by the second.

“Ha!” Serenity said, grinning at him. “No, Taven, no it’s not. That’s to say, it’s not _all_ it is. You’re going around thinking it has to be ‘getting fucked in the ass’, or ‘nothing’, but there is so much more stuff you can do together, stuff I bet Jonas would just love to do with you.”

“We do kiss some,” Taven said, “but...”

“Yes! That’s good, Taven, kissing is good. He can also suck you off, or you can fuck him… Oh, I bet he’d just love it if you fucked him.”

Taven’s eyes widened at the images in his head. The thought of him fucking Jonas had never once crossed his mind. Sex _was_ all about serving, having a cock down your throat, or being penetrated, regardless of how gentle or how harsh. Nickel had always been very careful, but Taven had still been fucked, had still _served_, and that was that. 

He felt his face heat up again. “Uh, I can’t do _that_. I mean, no one ever let me… How the fuck should I even know how to… _You_ know how to do that?”

“Fucking someone?” Serenity gave him another amused grin, shaking his head. “Of course I know how to fuck someone. I _have_ had sex with a few girls you know.”

“You have?” 

Thinking about it, Taven did remember Serenity once telling him he’d lost his virginity to a kitchen maid at the Engel Mansion, but he still couldn’t really picture Serenity with any kind of woman. Not with the mile-high stack of gay magazines their master, for some weird reason, allowed him to keep in here. Serenity was obviously only into men.

Serenity laughed. “Yeah, it wasn’t like I chose most of those times myself, or anything. Ah, you know what the lords are like. It’s not as if they ask your preferences before they order you to put on a show for them. Ask Lord Leonard for example, how much he enjoyed me fucking his sweet little Lucia. I tell you, he spurted like a canon, only at watching us.” 

Taven frowned. He knew it. There _had_ been something between Serenity and Lucia. 

Serenity shrugged his shoulders again. “Lucia is the sweetest thing, and it wasn’t the worst order I’ve been given, but yeah, women… I’d rather not. I almost preferred it when a lady wanted to peg me, at least then I didn’t have to worry I wouldn’t get it up, but… Well, I’ve fucked a few women, and I’ve fucked a few slave boys, but free men… _Lords_!” Serenity rolled his eyes. “Lords all have these silly hang ups. They think you have to top, or you’re not a man, or something. I bet many of them would have loved taking it up the ass, but they can’t admit to it. They would never let a slave do it in either case.” 

Taven nodded. That was all he knew of free men, as well, lords or otherwise. 

“Nickel, too, would never… Well, let’s put it this way, he’s _not_ up for a little bit of ‘role reversal’ in bed, which is kind of sad, seeing as he has the most perfect ass I’ve ever laid my eyes on, but… Yeah, he would probably have me whipped at the mere suggestion.” 

Taven frowned. “Master would never have you whipped.”

Serenity laughed a little. “No, of course he wouldn’t, I didn’t mean it literally. The point is I can handle it. Sure, variation is nice, but I don’t mind bottoming. He can fuck me every day, and twice on Sundays, until the day I die, as far as I’m concerned.” He laughed again, before doing one of those uncanny sudden mood changes where he turned serious in a heartbeat. “I’m no better than you, Taven, we’re just different. I can handle it, because, it’s _him_, and I enjoy bottoming in general, but you couldn’t, and you _don’t_ like being fucked. It doesn’t make you worthless, just different. The thing is; you’re going around thinking what you have with Jonas is the same. It _isn’t_.

“You’ve got yourself a dream situation here, and you don’t even see it. You’re not with a free man anymore, and you never have to be again. You can just shit all over whatever the fuck they once taught you. This is between you and Jonas. You two can figure out your own stuff, and do what _you_ want. Just talk to Jonas and try stuff out, together. You can keep to kissing mostly there’s nothing wrong with that, and maybe give each other hand jobs. No one has to penetrate anything, if you don’t want to. None of you have to serve the other.” 

Taven blinked. Serenity was right, wasn’t he? It sounded so simple and logical when he spoke of it, and he felt so stupid none of this had ever occurred to him. 

Serenity was a fucking genius.

So, why did he still feel bad and uneasy? Why was he still scared and apprehensive, just sitting here, instead of getting out of the chair to limp away to find his mate?

Serenity noticed, too, he wasn’t cheering up. “Aw, I’m not helping, am I?” he said, looking crestfallen and as if he wondered where he’d gone wrong. 

Taven blinked again. “Oh! No, you helped a lot, really, you did, it’s just…”

Serenity sighed. “You’re still scared?”

Taven banged a fist on the armrest. He was so fucking frustrated, so close to understanding, and yet he couldn’t quite grasp it. “Yeah, I am, but…”

“You’re scared he’s not going to be satisfied without fucking you?” Serenity prodded. “That you won’t be good enough as you are, that…”

“I’m not,” Taven said. “I’m not scared he’s not gonna like me. I- I’m scared I’m gonna hate _him_.”

“Uh,” Serenity said, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You just told me you love him.”

“I do,” Taven said. “I do, and- and that’s why I’m so fucking scared I’m gonna hate him.”

Serenity gave Taven’s leg a final pat, and got up from the footstool. He pulled the blue robe up from where it had slipped down his shoulders, and smiled at him. “You’re not making _any_ sense today, dear,” he said.

Oh, but he was. Taven saw it now, and it nearly broke him on the spot. It made him think things would never be good between Jonas and him, no matter Serenity’s advice. It all seemed hopeless. Taven wanted to cry.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “It’s much worse than you think. Swift ruined me totally. It’s not only that I’m scared of like a cock up my ass or something. When I was with Master, _everything_ reminded me of… He just breathed heavier, or- or touched my hair, and- and I fucking panicked.”

Serenity’s eyes were so full of pity Taven had to look away. “But… but you don’t hate him, do you?” he asked.

“No,” Taven said. “I don’t hate Master at all, but- but if it had gone on, I _would_ have. In the end, I would have, ‘cause I hate _them_. The bastards who fucked me and hurt me, I hate _all_ of them. I hate all of them _so_ fucking much, and it _never_ goes away.” 

Taven couldn’t hold back anymore. He hid his face in his hands once more and burst out crying miserably. “I don’t wanna hate Jonas,” he wept. “He’s all I got.”

Serenity crouched down beside him, put a hand behind his neck and pulled him close. Taven sobbed against his chest. “Hey, come on,” Serenity said. “Don’t be like this. You’re making me sad, too. I don’t want to be sad; it gives me puffy eyes. Come on…”

Taven pushed himself out of Serenity’s arms, and dried his face with his sleeves, trying to get a grip on himself. 

Serenity sat down at the footstool in front of him again and tried to catch his eyes under the strands of hair hanging in his face, while Taven sniffed and gulped. He was really trying to stop crying, but the mere thought hurt so fucking much. He told Serenity so.

“Oh, Taven… Listen to me, that’s not going to happen. You love him. You didn’t love Nickel. That’s a big difference, you know.”

“You think _that’s_ fucking enough?” Taven spat bitterly.

Serenity slowly shook his head. “Not completely, no. I’m not saying all you have to do is love someone and all the shit inside of you will go away, I know it won’t. Oh, do I know it doesn’t, but it’s a good start. Look, Taven, being intimate with Nickel, it reminded you of stuff, and being intimate with Jonas, yeah, that might remind you, as well. You think I’m never reminded of stuff? That’s not really the problem here though, but how you handle it when it happens. 

“With a master, it’s hard to handle things, even when they’re nice. Hell, _especially_ when they’re nice. You get so caught up in serving them, worrying about if they’re pleased with you, scared what’s gonna happen if you _aren’t_ pleasing, thinking you owe them everything… Then this old shit attacks you out of nowhere, and you can’t handle it because there’s no space left in your head. It’s all about the master. Nothing is about you. Masters, they don’t understand. No matter what they say, they don’t.

“Jonas, he’s going to give you space to handle things, _real_ space. You’re not gonna start to hate him, because you’re never going to let it go that far. Whenever anything becomes too much for you, you’re going to take a step back, and Jonas is always going to let you. If he doesn’t, I’m gonna fucking kill him. Jonas, he has to answer to you, and the rest of us, our master… He doesn’t have to answer to _anyone_.”

Taven stared. Serenity was right. The situation wasn’t the same. It _wasn’t the same_, and the differences went much further beyond only having once made a genuine choice to be with Jonas. He hadn’t understood just how different it really was, until now. 

Serenity gave him a smug grin. “Now, am I right, or am I not?” he said, as if he’d read Taven’s mind.

Taven dried at his cheeks with his sleeves and scowled at Serenity. “You’re fucking annoying, that’s what you are, but yeah… you’re right.”

Serenity caressed him over his scarred cheek. “You’re welcome,” he said.

\-----o0o-----

”Hey there, big guy!” Serenity called out.

Jonas startled violently and spun around at his voice, screwdriver in hand, dirt up to his elbows. Serenity couldn’t help the amusement at the garage slave’s demeanor. So awkward, so intimidated, why, he had nearly bowed to him.

“C- can I help you with something?” Jonas asked.

Oh, he even stammered. How adorable. Serenity looked about the workshop, and tried not to touch anything. He was wearing white today, and didn’t want a grease stain on his new pants. “No,” he said. “Not really.”

“Uh… Oh, I… A- are you looking for someone?” Jonas tried instead.

“Well, I came to exchange a few words with you, actually,” Serenity said, trying to sound friendly and smile nicely. Not that it seemed to relax the worker one bit.

He never quite knew how to act around the slaves here, and especially not the workers. Back at the Engel Mansion the relations between him and the rest of the slave population had been so infected, he’d stopped even pretending to be nice a long time ago. This time around, he wanted to be a different, better, person. 

Serenity had been informed being nice was in his best interest in any case, and he had no reason to doubt the truth of that. 

Already a few days after Nickel had brought him out of hiding and officially installed him upstairs, Lady Cecilia had taken him aside for a ‘private conversation’. 

Serenity shuddered at the memory. Lady Cecilia had quite convinced him she was immune to his looks and charm, and that she knew ‘his kind’ well enough. He’d been told he would do well to remember no matter how his master spoiled him in private, he shouldn’t expect the same treatment outside of their rooms. She would not tolerate he embarrassed his master in public, or made any kind of trouble in this house. 

He knew it wasn’t jealousy that had prompted these warnings. He’d heard her discuss her future marriage with Nickel that time at The Club, after all. No, Lady Cecilia didn’t care who her husband fucked, and was probably only happy someone kept Nickel sated and off her back, but she took her role as wife and guardian of the clan’s reputation very seriously. No way would a woman like that let some ‘pretty male whore’ make a mockery of her attempt to run this estate properly. 

It didn’t matter that Lady Cecilia obviously had her own ‘dirty secrets’. She would never be amused by his antics, and Nickel admired his beloved child’s mother much too much to deny her putting him in his place or teaching him a lesson, if she thought it necessary. Lady Cecilia Wren might be nothing but a hypocrite in Serenity’s mind, but, she had the power, and _he_ would sure as hell not make trouble around here if he could at all help it. He wasn’t stupid, thank you very much, and this was his last chance at a decent life. 

“You wanted to talk t- to _me_?” Jonas said, pulling him out of the unpleasant recollections.

“Yes, why not?” Serenity answered. “You’re involved with an old friend of mine, after all. I thought we should get to know each other. So, this is where you work?”

“Uh… Yes?” Jonas said, looking both nervous _and_ suspicious now. 

Serenity sighed. He was _trying_ for goodness sake. 

Oh, fuck it; he’d never be closer to the slaves around here. Apart from Taven, they all saw him as some kind of alien, and avoided him as much as they could. They’d never trust him, no matter what he did or say. At least they didn’t openly hate him here, and were always being nice and polite to him. He supposed he would have to be satisfied with that. 

“Look, Jonas,” he said, skipping the attempts at small talk. He might as well get straight to the point. “Taven really cares about you, and I really care about Taven. I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s been hurt enough in his life. Understand?”

A deep flush spread over Jonas’ face. “I- I’d never hurt Taven,” he stammered. “What did I do?” The garage slave stared at him in wide-eyed hurt. 

Serenity stared back. How could any slave that age and size be so fucking innocent and shit? He wondered if the fact Taven had held out on sex all this time meant Jonas was actually a virgin. It wouldn’t surprise him. Well, it was ridiculously obvious this ‘gentle giant’ would indeed never intentionally hurt Taven. He only wanted to make sure Jonas didn’t _inadvertently_ hurt him.

His smile was genuine this time. “Oh, you didn’t _do_ anything,” he assured Jonas. “That’s not what I meant. Of course you wouldn’t hurt him, not intentionally. I get that. Just be careful with him. I mean, if he tries some things, then take it very, very slow, know what I mean?”

Jonas stared at him in complete and utter confusion. 

Serenity rolled his eyes. Apparently, this demanded straightforwardness of a higher magnitude. “For goodness sake… If he wants to have any kind of sex with you, then whatever you do, don’t jump him or anything! Believe me, I would so fucking get it if you did, because… _damn_! But, do _not_ do that. Whatever he tries, you just lay back and let him run the show, okay?” 

The deepness of Jonas’ blush was unparalleled by anything Serenity had ever seen. He grinned; he started to like this guy. “Do you get it?” he demanded.

“Y- yes,” Jonas squeaked. 

“Great!” Serenity said. He turned to leave, wanting to get out of the dirty and smelly garage as soon as possible, but he stopped on the threshold. “Nice talking with you,” he said and gave Jonas a wide smile and a cheerful wave. 

Jonas just stood there, mouth open, holding up the screwdriver, cheeks flaming.

\-----o0o-----

They had gone to bed already a while ago, Jonas on his mattress on the floor, as usual. Taven tossed and turned. He couldn’t sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said. “Is the light bothering you?”

Jonas had found an old broken table lamp he’d managed to repair and now used as his reading light. Their master was finally going to enroll Jonas in driving school, in only a few weeks, and he was studying traffic books from the classroom any chance he had, and often long into the night. Taven usually had no problems sleeping with the light on, though. On the contrary, he found it cozy and comforting, falling asleep to Jonas turning pages and murmuring to himself while reading. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said. 

He couldn’t sleep because he’d been thinking about his conversation with Serenity all day, and the thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning around in his head. Should he tell Jonas what the ex concubine had advised him, or should he only try out stuff without saying anything first? Maybe already tonight? On the other hand, he shouldn’t interrupt Jonas’s reading. He was trying to learn some important stuff, after all. Yeah, not bothering Jonas with his shit at this hour was obviously the right thing to do. 

More likely, he was just being a coward.

“When you’re like done reading, and all that,” Taven spoke up, determined not to be that coward.”Can you come up here?”

Taven startled at the sound of the book skidding across the floor and crashing into a corner.

“I’m done,” Jonas declared. 

Taven laughed and lifted his covers in invitation. He didn’t have to ask twice, Jonas threw his own covers aside, crossed the room in one long stride, and crawled down into bed beside him. 

They usually didn’t share the bed, since it was really too small for two people to sleep comfortably, especially when one of them was as tall and well built as Jonas. Jonas, in particular, needed his sleep, working several jobs as he did. Sharing the bed was only for the occasional cuddle, lying close, kissing, Jonas putting his arms around him.

Taven had never let it go further than that, and though he knew Jonas wanted more, his mate had never pushed beyond this limit either. 

They kissed a little for a while, Jonas gently tangling a big hand in his hair, but Taven was distracted by still thinking about his talk with Serenity. He was supposed to try something other than this, but now he didn’t know if he had the courage, after all. He could feel the heat radiating from Jonas. Feel his desire… It excited him, but scared him, too. What if he started something, and Jonas wasn’t able to stop himself if Taven needed him to. Still, Taven couldn’t chicken out now, if he did, he was afraid he would never dare try again. 

Jonas moaned into his mouth, and somewhere, at the back of his mind, old memories swirled around like black smoke, threatening to take over. He’s not them, Taven tried to remind himself, he’s not them. This was different, and Jonas was _not_ like all those other men.

‘_He’s not them, he’s not them_…’

Taven pushed away from Jonas, and sat up beside him.

Jonas must have wondered what was wrong, what _he_ had done wrong, because he looked so worried and… frightened. It struck Taven he wasn’t the only one who was scared here. Every time Taven reacted in some weird way to their closeness, Jonas must be so scared this was it. That he’d done something bad this time, pushed Taven beyond his boundaries without meaning to, been too eager, hurt him somehow, bored him… Every time, Jonas must wonder if this was the moment Taven would tell him to get out and never come back. 

Taven smiled down at Jonas and put a hand on his bare chest, feeling Jonas’ heart beating hard against his palm. Oh, but telling Jonas to leave was the farthest from his mind. Keeping their eyes locked, Taven slowly eased his other hand under the waistband of Jonas’ pajama pants, enjoying the feel of his flat stomach and taut muscles. 

Jonas didn’t move and looked like he’d even stopped breathing. “Taven,” he gasped. “Wait, are you… Are you sure you wanna do that? You don’t have to. I mean, I don’t wanna push you to…”

“I want to,” Taven hurried to say. “Just let me! I… I’ll touch you, a little, but only that. Maybe more later, a- another night, okay?”

Jonas nodded. ”Anything you want. I’ll just… I won’t do a thing. You do what you want, and I’ll just lie here.”

“Okay,” Taven whispered. He let his hand slip farther down, touching Jonas’ cock with his fingertips. 

‘_He’s not them, he’s not them_…’ 

Taven closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wrapped his hand around it. It was rock hard, and so warm and smooth. Jonas shuddered and made a whimpering sound underneath him. He settled down at Jonas’ side, still holding his cock in his hand, and slowly started to pump it. He knew this, remembered well how to do it. He was _good_ at it.

Jonas’ scent, the sounds he made, the way his muscles moved in restraint as he fought to stay still, the velvety soft skin of his cock against Taven’s palm, Jonas nearly sobbing his name as Taven worked on him… Oh, it was all so fucking hot, it was making him dizzy; it was making him hard…

Making Jonas this happy was fucking overwhelming. 

The bad memories, the black smoke, it swirled around at the back of his mind, but he could push it back. He could _push it back_. He wasn’t falling apart, or panicking. Why had he denied them both for so long? He was such a stupid fuck.

Serenity on the other hand, yeah, he was a fucking genius.

\-----o0o-----

If the weather was nice, Roth knew, Nickel had taken to walking in the gardens with the child in the early morning hours. Roth didn’t often come out to the mansion this early, though, and it was the first time Nickel had had the opportunity to ask him to come along. He’d readily humored his boss.

The little heir eagerly strained to run off the path as they walked away from the house, pulling at his father’s hand, chatting incessantly, while Serenity trailed a few steps behind them, in silence, and with a considerably less eager demeanor. Roth suspected Nickel dragged the slave along most of these mornings, and it was more than clear the tall man found it boring, and would probably have rather stayed in bed a few more hours. 

Whatever complaints Serenity might voice in their rooms, though, he didn’t voice them here. In fact, Roth had to admit he was impressed with how well Serenity behaved these days. Half the time he seemed to be an entirely different person. When Nickel left the path, at the insistence of his son, and Roth slumped down on the nearest garden bench to wait for their return, Serenity stepped to the side, humbly crossing his hands behind his back, making no indications whatsoever he was planning to take a seat. Roth honestly couldn’t tell if the slavish manners were an act or not. He must know his master’s bodyguard wouldn’t care one fuck if he sat down beside him, especially not in private like this. 

“Just sit down, will you,” he said.

Serenity didn’t answer, but he came around the bench and did just that, leaning back in a casual but elegant way, languidly putting one long leg over the other, turning to Roth with a short nod to his head and a polite smile. It was uncanny, Roth thought, how sometimes, that slave really was completely indistinguishable from a lord. 

He wasn’t one though, was he? 

”Are you all right, boy?” Roth heard himself blurt out. 

Serenity raised his eyebrows, his lips parting in surprise. He had most likely expected only exchanged observations about the weather, or similar neutral subjects, but Roth didn’t have time for small talk. He rarely saw the slave on his own, Nickel could come walking up to them at any minute, and this had been at the back of his mind for a long time. For his own peace of mind, he needed to know. 

The blond slave finally smiled widely at the question. “I’d say so, Mr. Roth,” he said, gesturing at himself with his long arms, winking at him, seemingly indicating anyone looking as good as him couldn’t be anything else than all right.

Roth grinned and shook his head; _this_ was the Serenity he knew. There was no question the tall slave did look very handsome this morning, as impeccably dressed and groomed as always, with only a hint of makeup to accentuate his fine features, his flaxen hair neatly styled.“As fancy as you are, you strutting peacock, that’s not what I meant,” Roth said. He turned serious. “Are you all right, you know, with… this?” Roth made a discreet gesture towards Nickel, who was at the moment standing with his back to them, hopefully out of earshot, lifting the child up in the air to show him something in the branches.

“What? With the child? Sure! It’s a cute kid.”

Roth sighed. He suspected Serenity knew very well what he meant, he just didn’t want to go there, and was misunderstanding him on purpose. Roth didn’t intend to let the slave off the hook. He patiently asked again, spelling it out this time. “Nickel is practically keeping you as a bed slave,” he pointed out. “_Are_ you all right with that?”

Serenity didn’t answer right away, looking uncomfortable, shifting on the seat beside him, but then the same kind of carefree grin was plastered on again. “I really can’t complain,” he said.

“No, you can’t, can you?” Roth agreed. “That’s why I’m asking.”

The grin stayed, Serenity shaking his head at him. “Has anyone ever told you, you’d look great in shining armor, Mr. Roth?” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with something that was mostly amusement, but maybe a tiny bit of admiration, too. “Suppose I wasn’t all right, what would you do?”

Roth looked down in his lap and scratched at his neck. “I suppose there’s not much I _could_ do,” he admitted. “But if you were truly miserable, I’d talk to him.”

Serenity looked genuinely perplexed now. “You’d do that? You’d really criticize him for keeping me, even after what he did for you and Silas, and you’d do that for a wanton whore like me?”

Roth shrugged his shoulders. “The level of your salaciousness has nothing to do with it, boy. I know you feel strongly about him, hell, I’ve seen you ogle his ass as if you want to worship it or something. You have the hots for him; I get that, you might even love him; what do I know. None of that means this… arrangement is an actual choice on your part.”

Serenity opened his mouth, to protest no doubt, but Roth raised a hand to cut him off. “I helped him with the plan, remember? I know exactly how you ended up in his bed. I’m not sure it was entirely fair.”

The tall, blond man at his side was serious now, as well. “I’m not trying to be rude, Mr. Roth,” he said. “But why _do_ you care? I _am_ just a slave. Thousands would die to be in my shoes. Nickel doesn’t treat me bad; you know that. I don’t have a choice about anything else in my life either, for that matter, but you don’t seem too concerned about the fact I can’t even go outside these damn gates without permission. Why is it so important to you I’m all right with him fucking me?”

Roth grinned. “Chalk it up to free men’s hypocrisy, I guess. I don’t know, Serenity, it just bothers me, that’s all. I guess I’m concerned about him, too. I don’t think he could stand it a second time, you know, learning that, deep down, you’re not that into him, and are only trying to ‘keep the master happy’”. 

Serenity gave him a worried expression. “Is that what you think I’m doing, Mr. Roth? You think I’m only putting my ass in the air to get all these fancy outfits, or something.”

Roth shook his head, smiling. “I’ve no doubt you love how he spoils you, but, no, I don’t really think that’s what you’re doing. Look, Serenity, all I’m saying is, if ever you want out, but are too afraid to tell him, I _will_ butt in, if you want me to, okay?”

Serenity looked away and was silent for quite a few heartbeats. Roth had no idea if the slave would try to joke it off again, but he looked serious enough when he finally turned back to him. “Thank you, Mr. Roth,” he said. “I don’t think you understand how much I appreciate that offer, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not Taven. Bless the foulmouthed little spitfire, but I’m much tougher than he is. I might not have your biceps, Mr. Roth, and, may I add, a fine pair they are, but I’m strong in other ways.” 

He sighed deeply. “I suppose you might be one of the few free people who deserve the truth, Mr. Roth, so I’m gonna tell you, no, being a slave isn’t easy, not even when you’re the spoiled pet of man like Nickel. It damn well isn’t fucking easy, but I _am_ tough, I _do_ love him, and I’m also not stupid. I know very well this isn’t ideal, I’m not actually brainwashed you know, but I also know the reality in which I have to operate, and I’ve learnt to cope with it a long time ago. I’m all right, Mr. Roth. Again, thank you… for asking.” 

Roth nodded. “Okay, boy, I hear you,” he said. 

Again, Serenity was silent for a moment. “I’ll do my best to never hurt him,” he added. 

“Thanks,” Roth said. 

Over among the old oak trees, Nickel hoisted the child in the air, giving up a delighted laugh at his son’s happy squeals.


	88. Closures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right… so… this _is_ the last chapter then. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> I’m posting the vignette artwork once again here in the last chapter. I guess the symbolism in it might make more sense now.
> 
>   
  

> 
> This is my own artwork, so please don’t take it and post it anywhere else. 
> 
> /Fran

Serenity grinned at the girl standing on his threshold. If Nickel saw him answering his door in only his underwear, he’d smack him, or chide him, at least, but he had so few opportunities to amuse himself these days. Making the maids blush, and not knowing where to look was amusing, all right. “Yes?” he said.

“Taven asked me to tell you he wanted to see you in his room,” the girl said, seemingly studying a spot on the doorframe very intently.

“Oh, did he now?” Serenity said, languidly shifting feet, pushing his hips out.

“Uh, yes, and- and he told me not forget to say he…” Here she silenced, staring even more intently at the doorframe, looking like she tried to remember Taven’s exact words. “He said, ‘make sure to tell him it’s not an order, I’m _asking_’!”

“Well, since he asks so nicely… All right, I’ll just throw some clothes on, so, if you’ll excuse me… or, do you want to come inside and help me close my fly?”

The girl turned brightly red, shook her head profusely, and simply turned and fled. 

Serenity smiled. Cute girl, really. If Nickel only let the maids grow their hair out below their ears, and allowed some makeup, she wouldn’t have looked bad at all.

\-----o0o-----

Taven wouldn’t have been surprised if Serenity had made him wait hours, only to make some point, but he didn’t. Only a short moment after he had asked Sarah to bring a message, Serenity knocked on his door and opened it.

“Hey, you alone?” he asked, sticking his head through the crack. 

Taven nodded. “Yeah, Bruno took Jonas to his first day of driving school.”

Serenity came inside, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the bed. “Lucky guy,” he said with a small sigh.

“You know,” Taven said. “You can’t really blame Master for not trusting _you_ with the cars.”

Serenity only made a face at him. “So, what do you want?” he said instead. “I don’t have long. Nickel will be up from the gym soon.”

Taven hesitated, looking down and scratching at his neck. It was funny how it didn’t matter they’d already talked about this; it was still embarrassing. “You know, Jonas and me, we’re… Well, we’re doing stuff now.”

“You are?” Serenity brightened up, looking as eagerly invested in their love life as the last time. “And… it’s all right, you’re not freaking out?”

“We ain’t doing everything, and it’s tricky sometimes, but, yeah, I ain’t freaking out.”

“That’s great, Taven, that’s really good,” Serenity said, looking genuinely happy things were going well. 

It gave Taven the courage to go on. “Yeah, so, I want to do something for him, you know, something we haven’t tried yet. I wanna kinda surprise him; know what I mean, but… I’ll need condoms.” 

“Condoms?” Serenity raised his eyebrows. “What for? It’s not like either of you can get pregnant.”

Taven sighed deeply. Here came the embarrassing part. “I sorta have a ‘thing’ I don’t wanna give him,” he said.

Serenity’s eyebrows stayed up. “You have an STD?”

“Yeah, I do, and don’t fucking look at me like it’s the weirdest shit you’ve ever heard! You think a million men could use me and I’d never catch anything.”

Serenity gave him a placating smile. “It’s not that. I had Chlamydia once, so, I know. One of Albert’s friends must have infected me. Constantine was furious, but he saw to it I was treated, of course. I’m just shocked you still have it. Nickel must have known?”

“Of course he knew,” Taven sneered. “He got me treatment, too, right away. It was just… I had several, and one can’t be cured. It’s some kind of herpes-shit. I take pills that keeps it not coming out, but if it does anyway it’s con… Con-con…”

“Contagious?” Serenity filled in.

“Yeah, that! The doc told me, pills or no, I have to _always_ use a condom, just to be sure.”

“But that’s great,” Serenity blurted out. “Erm, I mean… _that’s_ not good, of course, but if you need condoms… You’re going to fuck Jonas, aren’t you? That’s progress, Taven.”

Taven had been wrong, _now_ was when it became embarrassing. “No! I’m not gonna fucking fuck him. He like… He sucked me off the other night, and it was fucking great, and I wanna do the same for him, ‘cause I’m really damn good at that, and he deserves it, and…”

“Okay, I don’t get a thing now,” Serenity interrupted. Why do you need to wear a condom, if you’re using your mouth on Jonas?”

Taven really wished his pale skin didn’t make him flush so damn easily. “The condom ain’t for me; it’s for him, ‘cause- ‘cause… I’ve got fucking herpes,” he said. “I got herpes, down my fucking throat, okay?”

Serenity’s eyes widened. “Wow! That’s actually possible?” 

Taven didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Go look it up in a fucking book!” he sneered. “I need condoms.”

Serenity shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, why are you telling me?”

“Uh, ‘cause I thought, maybe you could get me some?”

Serenity shook his head. “I can’t help you, dear.”

Taven’s face fell. “But… But you always used to get all sorts of stuff, and…”

“Yeah ‘used to’ is the key phrase here. What do you expect me to do? Nickel is really strict when it comes to stuff like that. I can’t go anywhere without him, he doesn’t give me any money. I can’t even get a piece of gum on my own anymore, let alone a fucking pack of condoms. I can’t claim _I_ need it, we don’t use them.”

“Can’t you think of something?” Taven insisted.

“Do it yourself, Taven,” Serenity said. “_You’re_ still a concubine. _You_ have a concubine allowance, and seeing as you insist on staying down here and never demands anything extra, there must be a fucking fortune amassed in that account by now. Tell the trusties who do the grocery shopping to get you some. They do sell them in the supermarket, you know.” 

“I can’t do that,” Taven whined. 

“Oh, come on,” Serenity said, grinning at him. “They know. Of course they understand Jonas and you aren’t just buddies. Just ask them, they’re not going to judge you or anything. If there’s anything a slave knows, it’s that you’ll take closeness where you can get it.”

“It’s not that,” Taven said, hanging his head. “It’s just… The Head Cook gives master all the receipts, and- and if there are condoms on there, he’s gonna wanna know who that’s for, and… I- I don’t want him to know that we… That Jonas and me…” 

“I see,” Serenity said, and there was no mistaking the icy undercurrent in these simple words. “Well, as I said, I can’t help you.” He made a move to get up from the bedside.

“No, wait!” Taven said, putting a hand on his arm to make him sit back down again. “Master always used to have a pack of condoms in his nightstand. Even if you’re not using them, I bet they’re still there. Can’t you just like sneak them out of the room and give them to me.”

“Are you nuts? I’m not gonna _steal_ from him.”

“It’s just a pack of condoms,” Taven tried. He was desperate to give to Jonas what his lover had given him, and he didn’t want to give up. “He probably doesn’t even remember he has them. He ain’t gonna notice. Please!”

Serenity sighed, his eyes again showing their usual warmth when he looked at his friend. “I get this is important to you, Taven, and if I had been the same person I used to be, if this had been Constantine, yeah, I wouldn’t have cared.” He gave up a cynic snort of a laugh. “Ha, I used to steal from Constantine _all_ the time. He never caught on. Yeah, I would have taken those condoms for you in a heartbeat, but things are different now, you don’t quite understand.

“Nickel being this way with me, restricting me the way he does, sometimes it drives me fucking crazy, but I get it. I understand he’s not doing it because he’s the ‘mean master’. He’s… scared. He doesn’t quite trust me, doesn’t trust I’ve changed. He’s afraid I’ll do something stupid out there, the authorities getting wind of me and dragging me off to shoot me in the back of my fucking head, like the common slave that I am. That _he_ made sure I now am.”

Serenity sighed deeply. “Oh, I understand that, too, the annulment, how it was the only way…” He rolled his eyes. “The point is, he’s only doing what he thinks is best for me. I appreciate that, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to just accept this for the rest of my life.”

Taven stared. “But, what the hell could you do about that?” 

“Well, for one thing, I could try to make him trust me, which, as would seem obvious, would at the very least require me _not_ stealing from him.”

“Oh,” Taven said.

“You see now? Nickel isn’t impossible. I know I can make him trust me, but I have to be patient, and I have to be really, really good, you understand. I have to mean it, too. I can’t just lie to him; lull him into a false sense of security. If I did, he’d find out, eventually. He really has to be able to trust me, for real, and it’s not just for me. I care about him. I don’t want him to be this worried all the time.” 

Taven nodded, he understood. Jonas was worth fighting his issues and fears for; their relationship was worth working on, no matter how difficult it could sometimes be. Yes, it was worth everything to him. However, he’d never considered Serenity might feel the same about their master; that he was on the same mission to make things better, for them both. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “I ain’t ever gonna ask stuff like that of you again, I swear.” 

“As much as I care about you, Taven, please don’t, because you’re making me awfully conflicted here. I want to help you, but I only have _one_ try at this. Nickel and I, we can become something more. Something… real. A real couple. Equals. I know we can. I know I can make him see it my way, and I’m not going to fuck this up.”

Taven could only gape at these words. Had Serenity gone completely mad? Not even he could be so full of himself he would seriously think that… “You think Master’s gonna _free_ you?” he blurted out, not able to hide his disbelief in the possibility of this ‘plan’, or the cynic sneer at such utter meaningless daydreaming. 

Serenity pulled back in indignation and scowled at him. “You don’t think I could do it? You don’t think I could manage. What the hell! If _Silas_ can fucking do it, why couldn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Taven said. “I saw you, at the mall; I know you could handle it. I just don’t think Master’s ever gonna do that. It doesn’t matter how nice he is, he doesn’t look at slaves that way. He only freed Silas ‘cause Mr. Roth asked him to.”

Serenity scowled at him again. “You’re wrong, Taven… Oh, I guess you’re right, too. All right, it’s complicated, but… Look, Nickel might be better educated than I am, but I’m no less smart than he is. He might be a sophisticated lord, but I know just as well how to dress, speak and carry myself. Whatever he does, I could do, too… well, except for that freaky Kung Fu stuff, I guess, but… The point is, I’m not less of a… anything, and he knows that. I know he knows that, deep down, it’s just he’s as brainwashed by this society as the rest of us, and he’s scared. He’d think I’d leave as soon as I had the chance.”

“Would you?” Taven asked, more than a little worried at the thought of Serenity not being in his life anymore.

Serenity smiled and shook his head. “He let me have a place at his side, instead of at his feet… Oh, I’d stay.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it’s too much to ask; maybe the gods will strike me dead one of these days for my hubris, but I have to at least give it a try, know what I mean?”

Taven nodded, he understood. He still thought Serenity was seriously deluding himself even thinking there was a chance of freedom. Even if Serenity managed to convince Nickel, Lady Cecilia would most certainly have something to say about it, too, and _she_ would be much harder to convince. Well, as long as the ex-concubine didn’t push too far, too soon, or got too cocky overall, then Taven supposed it couldn’t hurt to try. It wasn’t like Serenity had any other meaningful things to do, and he had a whole life’s worth of time to carefully pursue it. If it gave him something to hope for and look forward to… Taven sure wasn’t knowingly going to destroy things for him. 

“In fact,” Serenity said. “There _is_ something you could do to help me in this.”

“What? Me?” Taven said. 

“Yes,” Serenity said, looking at him with a serious expression. “You could talk to Nickel yourself, and ask him for the condoms.”

“No! I just told you, I don’t want him to…”

“I know. You rejected him, you don’t wanna throw in his face you prefer a worker over him. I get it, but… Taven, I think he needs to hear this.”

Taven thought he knew what Serenity meant. No matter how strange it was, his master had still seemed to expect him to come back one day, to ask to be assigned again. Often when Taven had asked to speak with his master about practical concerns, running low on medication, or whatever, he _had_ hinted at such a thing. Several times his master had asked him straight out if he was now sexually intimate with Jonas, and hadn’t been able to hide how pleased he was to hear they weren’t. 

There had been much less of this after Serenity had come to the house, but he still didn’t want his master to know things had now changed between Jonas and him. He supposed Serenity would want him to reject their master for the last time, though, so the man wouldn’t focus on anything else than his current bed slave. He could hardly blame Serenity for this, but still… 

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t tell him. I’m just too much of a fucking coward.”

“Well, I guess being able to give Big Guy a blow job isn’t all that important to you, after all then.”

Taven squirmed on the bed, not in the least happy with the ultimatum Serenity tried to force here. “I _can’t_,” he whined, hoping his pleading eyes would make Serenity come up with another solution.

Serenity did seem to soften a bit. “How about if I told him first and sort of prepared him for it? You would still have to talk to him, Taven, I want him to hear this from _you_, but you wouldn’t have to handle springing it on him out of nowhere.”

“No!” Taven said. “Fuck, no! Don’t tell him, please don’t tell him!”

Serenity only kept smiling at him tenderly, until Taven finally hung his head with a deep sigh, defeated. “Okay,” he murmured. “Tell him!”

\-----o0o-----

Nickel stepped out of his bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist after a refreshing shower. He was pleasantly tired out from a long workout in his gym together with Roth and was looking forward to a relaxing evening, but he halted in the door opening in sheer surprise at what he saw before him in his bedroom.

Serenity had pulled the old armchair into the middle of the room, and had put a tub of steaming hot water in front of it, a big towel underneath to protect the floor. The slave was kneeling on this same fluffy towel, putting down bath salts and oils before him. 

A foot bath. Nickel smiled. “Well, well,” he said, walking up to the chair and sitting down at Serenity’s gesture to do so. “To what do I owe this honor?” 

Serenity didn’t answer. He only smiled up at his master, and made him put his feet in the tub. “Too hot?” he asked.

“No,” Nickel said, “it’s perfect.”

Nickel leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, letting his feet soak, feeling how Serenity added things to the water in a mix he was sure would leave his feet both soft and nicely smelling. He could barely wait for the massage the oils seemed to promise. 

It came soon enough, Serenity lifting his feet out of the water just as it seemed to cool a bit too much to bring the same kind of comfort, toweling them dry. Nickel moaned as Serenity put the towel away and started to knead the bottom of his feet. “Oh, your hands are pure magic,” he said. 

Again, Serenity only smiled. 

Well, Nickel thought, if this wasn’t a perfect end of the day. Serenity was so very good at this. He practically melted into a puddle of goo at the slave’s ministrations, feeling more and more relaxed, all the stress and concerns of everyday life forgotten. 

Nickel could, of course, have Serenity do this for him every night if he so wished, but just as with sex, he preferred _not_ to order things of this nature. It was so much sweeter when Serenity offered voluntarily. Though Nickel usually didn’t have to wait for sex – Serenity was far too needy himself – foot massages, and similar tings, was in contrast a rare occurrence indeed. If it happened again this year, he would be lucky. Nickel recognized it was a treat, one he was enjoying to the fullest and honestly appreciated. 

It didn’t stop him from wondering if there might be something behind this unexpected concern for his tired feet. “Serenity, what did you do?” he asked, giving the slave kneeling on the floor before him a suspicious glare.

Serenity looked up at him in apparent shock, his fingers never ceasing their work, his wide blue eyes innocence personified. “Nothing,” he said. “I haven’t done anything. I just thought you might like this tonight, that’s all.”

“I do,” Nickel said. “I most certainly do.” He couldn’t help he was still suspicious. Serenity _was_ also very good at appearing innocent. In the next second, Nickel scolded himself inside his mind. He really should learn to trust Serenity more. Hadn’t the ex-concubine done his best these last years to change and better himself? He really had, _and_ had been very uncomplaining about the new order of things, as well. Nickel should give Serenity the benefit of the doubt and accept that a devoted slave only wanted to do something nice for his master without ulterior motives. “Well, then…” He smiled graciously and leaned back again, closing his eyes once more. 

Serenity worked silently for a while, shifting between his feet in perfectly paced intervals, relaxing him expertly, until... “There _was_ something I wanted to tell you, though,” Serenity blurted out without warning, startling Nickel out of his pleasant state. 

He’d known it. “What?” he demanded, maybe a bit sharper than he’d intended. He could feel the slight tremble in Serenity’s hands.

“It’s not about me,” he hurried to explain. “It’s Taven.”

Nickel sat up straight in the chair and pulled his feet out of Serenity’s hands. “What about him?” he asked.

“Well, he wanted to ask you for something, but he didn’t dare to. He asked me, to ask you.”

Nickel’s eyebrows pulled together in worry. “He knows he can always come to me with any kind of problems. Why wouldn’t he dare speaking with me?”

“I think, he thinks it’s kind of sensitive? He… He wants condoms.”

“Condoms?” Nickel repeated. There was a twist in his stomach, a sinking feeling; he couldn’t get another word out.

“Master?” Serenity said, worry in his voice. “Master, may I ask you something?”

Nickel tried to snap out of it, and looked down at Serenity. “Yes?” he said. 

“Master, if Taven wanted to come back, would want his assignment back, would you let him?”

Nickel didn’t answer right away. “I would consider it, yes,” he finally said. He was prepared for the hurt and fear he saw in the slave’s eyes, recognizing the vulnerable place Serenity’s question had come from. 

It wasn’t that Serenity was the jealous type, not really, and he was very fond of Taven, too, Nickel didn’t doubt he genuinely was. No, this was solely fear of losing his master’s love and protection. Serenity wasn’t stupid. No matter how close they had become the last few years, and how successfully they had rekindled their sex life, Serenity knew his master had never been able to get the redheaded concubine out of his mind, not completely. 

“I might consider taking him back. I would never consider throwing _you_ out,” he assured Serenity.

“You’d keep us both?” Serenity asked. 

“In that case, yes.”

However, that _wasn’t_ the case, was it? Nickel understood very well what Taven wanting condoms meant. He wanted to be sexually intimate with that worker. Taven had truly moved on. He didn’t know what he felt about that. Hurt, anger at getting another nick to his pride, relief Taven was doing so well and was healing to such a degree he dared having sex again? 

Maybe he felt a little bit of everything in getting this news, but the only reason he’d framed it the way he had in his answer to Serenity’s question was to assure him it didn’t matter what would happen in the future, or who he might otherwise be involved with, free or slave. Nickel would _never_ let Serenity slip out of his hands again. 

Serenity also did exhale in relief at these words, understanding the meaning behind them, no doubt. Things weren’t as easy for Nickel. He struggled with coming to terms with it all. If he, deep down, had still hoped Taven would come back, this hope was now definitely crushed.

Nickel still smiled bravely and leaned down to kiss Serenity on the mouth. “Thanks for the foot massage,” he said, caressing his cheek. Serenity would understand, he was sure, what he was actually thanking him for was this attempt to ‘lessen the blow’.

He had to send for Taven, to talk to him.

\-----o0o-----

Nickel had only waited a few minutes on the garden bench, when he spotted Taven. He watched the concubine’s slow approach over the lawn, struggling with his bad leg, and had to force himself not to get up from his seat and help the boy with a supporting arm at his elbow.

Taven was doing fine on his own; he had to try to remember that. 

Even so, this couldn’t be easy for Taven. Nickel noticed there was no eagerness in his limping steps, and he didn’t look up as he was nearing, seemingly very concerned with where he put his crutches. 

Taven would be scared, Nickel did understand this. He would worry greatly his master was less than pleased with this request. The slave would be frightened this time his master _would_ be angry and take his hand from him, once again so blatantly rejected over a simple worker. 

Nickel shook his head in sadness watching Taven tremble before him, staring at his feet, not daring to say a word. He would tell the boy it was all right, that he had nothing to fear, and that his relationship with Jonas had his blessing, no matter what it consisted of.

Yes, Nickel had already figured out exactly what to say to assure the boy, but the question was if all these words would be a lie or not. 

Nickel fingered the pack of condoms in his jacket pocket. He’d always care about this slave, but… No, what he had to say wasn’t a lie, he knew now it wasn’t. He smiled, thinking of Serenity’s blue eyes looking up at him with such devotion, care and desire. 

Taven had moved on, but so had he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed in the header that I have bumped up the chapter number to 92. This doesn’t mean there are any more chapters. I repeat; there are NO more chapters.
> 
> There are, however, four short snippets/cuts/side stories, which I mentioned already in the introduction that I would post after the main story ended. Initially, my plan was to post these as their own work. However, these four snippets immediately reveals that Serenity, instead of Taven, ended up with Nickel, and if I post the snippets as their own work, there is no possible way not to spoil the main story from the get-go for all new readers in the future. Spoiler Warnings won’t help – the snippets will just ruin _The Red Braid_ for any new reader if they saw the snippets first. 
> 
> I realized there was no other way to avoid major spoilers than to post the four snippets/side stories as a direct add-on to the main work, so that’s why the chapter count was bumped up. I will post all four in one go next Sunday, as an extra treat, sort of, and then there is no more material in existence to show you.
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!):
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.)
> 
> /Fran


	89. Roth Speaks with the Head Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following four “chapters” are not really chapters, but snippets and side stories in _The Red Braid_-universe, that I decided to post as a bit of bonus material. I am adding them on to the main work here, after the end, instead of posting them as a separate work, since they by their very nature contain spoilers for _The Red Braid_, which would quite soundly ruin the main story for any future readers who might have run into that separate work first.
> 
> I’m posting all of the snippets in one go, tonight, and please read the notes to all of them, to see how or where, they would have fitted into the main story, or what they are meant to be. 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> Snippet number one takes place right after the events described in “Chapter 84 Six Months Later”. It’s never mentioned in the main story, but after Nickel breaks off his clan’s friendly relations with the Engel clan – to be able to take possession of Serenity, as described in Chapter 84 – he confesses having done so to his father, who has come back home to the mansion to attend Constantine Engel’s funeral. The Wren Head Lord is furious, and Roth takes it upon himself to try to mollify the old man. It was a scene that simply ended up not being included in the main story, so, this is a classic “left on the cutting room floor”-piece. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> /Fran

Roth would lie if he said he wasn’t really fucking nervous, knocking on the old lord’s door. 

He was expected, of course, having chosen the formal route of actually asking for an ‘audience’ with the Head Lord. However, he hadn’t at all been sure he would be granted any such thing, as angry as the old lord was, and now that he _had_ been granted this ‘audience’, he almost regretted asking for it. 

Roth hadn’t been wrong when he feared the Head Lord would have a virtual conniption at learning how Nickel had broken it off with Albert, ruining the age-old friendship between the Wren and the Engel clans. Nickel had been prepared for this, too, but he’d still looked pale and shaken returning from having confessed to his father what he had done. The old lord had been _very_ angry and had simply dismissed Nickel, refusing to talk with him further. 

Before they’d set the plan in motion, Nickel had claimed his father wouldn’t actually mind the breakup, since he very much disliked Albert himself, and that his probable anger would only be for appearances sake. His father would soon calm down, Nickel had said, even if he wouldn’t openly admit relief at being rid of Albert.

Roth wasn’t so sure. The old man really had been furious, and obviously still was, even two days later. He was also not sure a good part of that anger wasn’t directed at him. Roth had enabled Nickel in his crazy ideas, after all, and that wasn’t really in his job description. He figured, since he _was_ still in the clan’s employ, the Head Lord mostly blamed his son, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get a good scolding, too, if he dared show his face around here.

He was probably nuts, voluntarily walking right in the line of fire like this, but… 

A grumpy and impatient voice on the other side of the door told him to enter, and he did so, carefully closing the door behind him, clearing his throat, and not quite meeting the old man’s eyes as he walked into the room. 

The old lord did not ask him to sit down. “If you’ve come on Nickel’s behalf…” he started, but Roth hurried to shake his head.

“No! No, I’m not here on your son’s behalf, Sir, and… Well, not on my own either. I could mention I did try to talk him out of it, but I would have to admit then that I didn’t do so with enough conviction. I know what we did was wrong, legally anyway, morally, however… Someone’s life was on the line, we couldn’t find any other solution, and… I couldn’t walk away, Sir. I would never have done what Nickel asked otherwise. I… I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Then why are you here, Mr. Roth?”

“I came on Serenity’s behalf,” Roth answered.

The old lord looked up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise before his face again crumpled into a frown. “Sit!” he said.

Roth obeyed and sat down in an armchair across from the old lord. 

“You want to speak on the _slave’s_ behalf?” 

“Yeah,” Roth started carefully. “I feared you might blame him for this, at least partly.”

“You think I blame _him_?”

“I don’t know, Sir, I feared you might. You told me once how you thought Nickel ‘lost his head’ when being with Serenity the first time around. How he was being inappropriate, treating Serenity like a free lover; that Nickel got so enamored with him you wanted to step in and put a stop to it. Now, he’s sort of done it again, hasn’t he? He did something crazy, illegal even, only to save Serenity, and I suppose it’s pretty clear by now he still has deep feelings for the guy. I assumed you would think he’d ‘lost his head’ again.”

“Well, how else should I see this? You tell me that, Mr. Roth!” 

“I’m not denying it. I mean, I agree that when it comes to Serenity… Yeah, Nickel is head over heels in love with the guy, Sir, I think he’s always been, and Serenity… Well, he’s a clever man. He’s had most of his life to learn how to navigate this world and survive as best as he can, using his good looks and sex as the only tools available to him. I guess it wouldn’t be completely wrong to say the guy _does_ have a manipulative streak. 

“It would certainly not be a stretch to believe he’s been flattering Nickel, working his way into his heart. That he would manipulate your son into doing this, using his charms to ‘snare’ him. It would be easy, I admit, to decide Nickel would never have even thought of a thing like this if that blond little snake hadn’t whispered evil plans in his ears between sweet nothings. After all, as horrible as Lord Albert is – and we both know he really is a fucking horrible excuse for a human being; pardon my language – it wouldn’t be strange if Serenity would have done anything to get away from him, and would have used all his wiles to trap Nickel and make him save him. Serenity wouldn’t care, right, if the friendship between your clans were ruined.”

The old lord again raised an eyebrow. “I thought you meant to speak on his behalf? Are you trying to tell me this _is_ what happened?”

“No, Sir, I’m trying to tell you that to blame Serenity is to take the easy way out and nothing of that is even remotely true. I’ve stayed close to Nickel all through this, I’ve talked with Serenity, and I’ve talked with the redhead… I can safely say I know exactly how all of this came about, and Serenity is really quite innocent. Yes, he hoped Nickel would help him, but that’s all he could do – _hope_. He was too scared to tell Nickel a single word about what Albert planned to do to him. He confided in the redhead, his only friend in the world, that’s all he did.

“The redhead was the one who spilled the whole truth in the end. You might argue Serenity planned for the redhead to do that, but if that was his plan, it backfired on him spectacularly. The redhead only told Nickel _after_ Serenity had taken him to the mall, and by then Nickel was so angry with Serenity he might as well have used that information to completely destroy the slave instead. This doesn’t speak of manipulative skills on Serenity’s part, Sir; it only speaks of just how goodhearted your son is who still promised Serenity he would help him. Believe me, Sir, Serenity had no hope left back then and would have feared Nickel almost as much as he feared Albert. Whatever he might have planned, he blew it – Nickel saved him anyway. 

“As for what Nickel and I did now… Sir, Serenity had no idea of these plans. Nickel told him nothing, lied to him even. He only told him when it was all over and Serenity lived in complete fear of Albert up until that very moment. Nickel also didn’t touch him, or even told him he wanted him back in his bed, until _after_ the fact. Serenity wouldn’t even have tried to ‘seduce’ Nickel into this as he was convinced Nickel had rejected him sexually for the last time already years ago. I can attest to that he spent that entire time here down in the slave quarters as a hollow-eyed depressed wreck. I saw him, he was terrified and in no state of seduction.

“What I’m trying to say, Sir, is that Nickel might have seduced himself into doing this, what with all these big emotions of his and all, but Serenity didn’t.”

“I see…” the old lord said, eyeing him with suspicion. “I suppose… Well, all right, I have no reason not to believe you. It does fit Nickel’s nature. I’m still puzzled, Mr. Roth, as to why you are wasting so much energy defending this slave. I wasn’t aware _you_ were especially close to him?”

“Yeah… I wasn’t. I used to be quite suspicious about the guy myself, but I’ve gotten to know Serenity better the last years, and I have to admit I’ve come to think more highly of him. He really isn’t as bad as some think. You’re correct, though; it would probably be too much to say that I’m close to him. I’m defending him simply because it’s the truth, the guy is innocent here, and it would just be wrong if he was punished for something he had no influence over whatsoever. I’m also saying all this because I feared that if you suspected Serenity was deliberately trying to influence your son, you might send the slave away, and… Well, I don’t think Nickel could handle that. He… really needs the guy.”

The old lord snorted contemptuously. “As much as he ‘needed’ that redheaded boy, only to then immediately tire of him and discard him?” 

This time _Roth_ raised his eyebrows. “Is… Is that what he lets you believe? That’s not at all… Sir, I’m not sure I should say this if Nickel himself has never explained, but… Nickel didn’t discard the redhead, and he certainly didn’t tire of him. He cared deeply for him, and was fully committed. I don’t think that would have changed even with Serenity’s arrival. Your son’s heart is big, Sir, and has room for many, he would have kept them both, believe me. No, Sir, Nickel didn’t discard the redhead. The redhead had trouble coping with… physical intimacy after what happened to him, Nickel accepted this and let the boy go.”

The old lord was silent for several heartbeats. “The redhead _rejected_ Nickel, and he accepted this?”

“Well… Yes, Sir, and… Please don’t blame the redhead either, he really was too traumatized to handle it, and…” 

“Yes, yes,” the lord said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “The redheaded cripple is a sad and simpleminded little thing, a nervous wreck, broken, mind and body… pathetic… I’m not blaming such a creature. He’s more suited for the kitchens in any case. I just never knew… I thought Nickel was being flighty. I feared for his marriage.”

Roth shook his head. “It had nothing to do with being flighty, Sir. When he broke up the assignment, he only did what he thought was best for the redhead, and he was heartbroken about it. Nickel _did_ need the redhead, Sir, but he gave him up anyway. Please don’t force him to give up Serenity, too.”

Again, the old lord was silent for an uncomfortably long time. “Very well,” he finally said. “I suppose he can keep him. At least Serenity is a proper attendant, and now that Nickel does legally own the boy, his affections for him, though still worrying – you have to understand how a father sees it – isn’t nearly as inappropriate.” The old lord raised a finger and gave him a strict look. “I am not, however, going to reinstate the boy’s former status. This clan will not have another concubine, and that is my last word on the matter. You can tell Nickel that!” 

Roth allowed himself a small smile. “I was hoping, Sir, you would tell him yourself…?”

The Head Lord sighed. “You will have to give me a few more days, Mr. Roth. I don’t think I’m remotely capable of speaking to my son at the moment without yelling at him.” He sighed again. “Please don’t think me an old ogre, or that I’m being unreasonable and harsh. You have also managed to dissipate some of my anger with this information, which was previously unknown to me. I do understand the situation better now, and I admit my first thought _was_ to see to it Serenity would be removed from here. You’ve managed to change my mind about that particular issue, but you will have to be satisfied with that, and let Nickel and I work through this on our own, and at our own pace.”

Roth bowed his head at this. “I understand, Sir. I really don’t mean to butt in, I just… You two fighting affects Nickel badly and I hate seeing him like that. He’s more than just a boss to me, I really care about him.”

“I’m aware, Mr. Roth. If I didn’t believe you truly care about him almost as a brother, an incident like this would have seen you fired. I hope you understand that.”

Roth nodded. “Yeah… I… I do.”

“Since you are indeed so close to my son, I feel I want to explain my anger. I don’t give a damn about Albert Engel. You’re correct, the man is awful, and I’ve been well aware of this ever since the Engel clan’s new Head Lord was nothing but a mere child. Even as a small boy, he was… Well, I’ve been preparing myself for years to let the friendship between our clans peter out once Constantine passed, and Albert took over. A part of me hoped I wouldn’t still be around for it, but knowing Constantine and his unhealthy ways, I was reasonably sure he would pass before me, bar an unexpected accident, or the like. I’ve been fully prepared to see the benefits of that friendship lost to us. It’s only; I could never imagine it would happen in _this_ manner. 

“What worries me the most here is not the open hostility between our clans. Serenity’s possible influence over my son _was_ a worry, but you’ve assured me it isn’t the problem I thought it was. That my son would actually involve himself in illegal activities over a slave, though, now _that_ worries me, Mr. Roth. It does not matter to me that there was no other way to save Serenity… Oh, please don’t think I would ever want the slave to suffer at Albert’s hands, but Nickel is my only child, and when push comes to shove, he is all that I care about. 

“The thought only of this coming out, Nickel being in trouble with the law, his life and reputation ruined… over a slave. It’s a possibility I cannot accept, Mr. Roth, a worry, which will not dissipate. My anger over how carelessly he puts himself at risk, even as his compassion gladdens me, is still raging. You _will_ have to give me a few more days.”

Roth nodded again. “I understand, Sir,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. That Serenity didn’t find himself saved from Albert, only to then immediately be put out on the open market to face an unknown destiny, or – if Nickel had put up too much of a fight about that – didn’t have a very unfortunate back stairs “accident” with a lethal result, was also only thanks to… Roth!
> 
> /Fran


	90. Serenity’s Future Struggles – AU-Version I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have taken place after the main story ends.
> 
> In the last chapter of _The Red Braid_, Serenity has ended up with Nickel, essentially replacing Taven, but he is not content. He reveals to Taven that he wants Nickel to see him more as a real lover, more as an equal, and maybe even freeing him. He tells a very skeptical Taven he has a long-term plan to work on gaining Nickel’s trust, slowly, gently and carefully, until, he hopes, Nickel will be open to the idea. The main story then ends before we get to know if Serenity’s plan worked, though it’s rather clear it’s a farfetched plan that is not likely to succeed. 
> 
> Well, just as a thought experiment, I wrote two scenes, two different AUs, of how such a scenario possibly could have played out. So, either one of these two scenarios could have been what eventually happened, but not both of them. These two are, of course, not the only possible scenarios, either. Maybe some of you have another scenario in mind, a less angsty one, perhaps? :-) 
> 
> Snippet no. 2 here is the first AU version of how the plan Serenity mentions in the last chapter of _The Red Braid_ could have ended up for him. In this version, Serenity has been Nickel’s property for about three years, or so. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> /Fran

Roth glanced up at his boss over their shared outdoor lunch on a patio at the back of the mansion. After all these years in Nickel’s employ, he could read his friend like an open book, and there was something bothering Nickel today.

“So, is something bothering you?” he finally asked straight up, giving up on what he’d been trying to tell his boss, as Nickel was obviously far away in his mind and hadn’t listen to a word he was saying.

“Oh, uh… I’m sorry! No, no, I’m fine. I was only a bit distracted. Go on!” 

Roth shook his head. “Never mind, it wasn’t important, and I can clearly see something _is_ bothering you, so… What’s up?”

Nickel sighed deeply. “It’s nothing, really. Quite stupid, actually, and it shouldn’t bother me in the least, but… Well, it seems Serenity is not on speaking terms with me today and prefers to sulk in his room. I’ve been up there three or four times already, banging on his door and yelling at him. He won’t even answer me, much less open the door.” Nickel scowled, seemingly thinking the nerve of this slave was absolutely atrocious. 

Roth couldn’t help grinning at this. Serenity was just an ordinary slave now, Nickel had complete power over him in every sense of the word, Roth knew for a fact there wasn’t even a lock on Serenity’s door, and still… Serenity had a sulk, and Nickel acted as if he was completely helpless at this, left standing outside the slave’s door, begging for attention. 

“He won’t even speak with you? What did you _do_?”

Nickel’s deep scowl remained. “Nothing to warrant that sort of behavior, I can assure you. He nagged me all morning about going shopping, I said no, that’s all.” Nickel sat up straight in his chair and forcefully put his fork down. “I really shouldn’t stand for this behavior, should I? I’m spoiling him much too much, that’s what I’m doing. As if he doesn’t have a wardrobe that isn’t already on its way to burst, and he has the gall to be angry with his master for not taking him to buy even more. I _should_ have him punished for this.”

Roth was still grinning, knowing very well that that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon, not to Serenity. “He’s only learning from your example, Nickel. After all, has the fact of your own wardrobe bursting at the seams ever stopped _you_ from buying more stuff.” 

Nickel opened his mouth to, no doubt, angrily argue this, but then he closed it again and slumped back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re making fun of me,” he said. 

“Only a little,” Roth admitted, giving his friend a placating smile. 

“I know the whole thing is completely ridiculous,” Nickel said, “but really… I don’t understand why he’s so damn upset about this. I take him shopping all the time, but the one time I say no… I am actually seriously worrying I do spoil him too much.”

Roth shook his head. “Oh, Nickel… Just listen to yourself! Look, how old is Serenity?”

Nickel looked puzzled at the seemingly strange change of topic. “He’s twenty eight. Why?”

“Really? Because the way you told this story, it sounded like you were handling a twelve year old.”

Nickel scowled and nodded. “I know, right? I tell you, I’ve been spoiling him, and…”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean _he_ acts like a child. What I’m telling you is that _you_ are treating him as one.”

“I am not,” Nickel protested. “I’m having sex with him, for goodness sake.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how you manage to make sense of that, but you _are_ treating him like a child. Look, before you get angry with me, too, consider this. You know very well that Serenity can drive a car and handle money just fine. You know he finds his way about the city, and that he's quicker in the head than most people are. The point is, he absolutely could go shopping on his own, and handle that responsibility. Instead, he has to beg you to take him outside these gates so he doesn’t die from sheer boredom, and if you don’t feel like it, he can’t do shit about it. He’s a smart and capable adult, Nickel, who isn’t trusted with anything. Consider that he might actually not be angry with you right now because he can’t have more clothes, but because it’s damn humiliating to be denied something he could just as well do by himself, but aren’t allowed to, for no damn reason at all.”

“That’s _not_ true!” Nickel protested.

“Which part?” Roth asked, refusing to back down, even while sensing he was dangerously close to pushing Nickel into pure ‘aristocratic anger mode’, which usually wasn’t a very nice thing to experience. “You don’t agree he’s smart and capable?”

“Oh, of course he is, but… It isn’t true I’m being strict with these things for no reason, and you know that. It doesn’t matter how smart and capable he is, when you know how impulsive and reckless he can also be. Who knows what ideas he’d get in his head, let loose on his own out there? I just don’t want him to end up in trouble. I’m only thinking of his best.” 

Roth shook his head. “A few years ago, I would have agreed with you, but… Don’t you think Serenity has changed quite a bit since? I think so. In fact, in many ways, he’s almost like a completely different person these days, and you’re just refusing to see it.”

Again, Nickel opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, but then closed it again, his scowl deepening. 

Roth hurried to keep arguing. “Look, I’m not blaming you. I know how much you love the guy. Naturally, you don’t want to lose him, and considering all the shit that happened a few years ago, it isn’t strange you’re still clinging to the same kind of strategies to keep him safe. But Serenity _has_ changed, Nickel, and the circumstances aren’t the same anymore.” 

“I suppose…”

“Yes! Think about it! Since you took ownership of Serenity and brought him here, I can’t think of a single fucking time that he caused any kind of trouble for himself, or anyone else. There really is no reason to think he would if you did ease up on his restrictions either. He’s older for one thing, obviously he’s matured, but he’s also very well aware that he doesn’t have the same status as before, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t be much more careful. He has something to live for now, too. He’s in your undeniable favor, and he never again has to fear he’ll be locked up and abused. Don’t you think this fact alone will inspire him to behave? Some of his former bad behavior was reckless immaturity, sure, but most of it was sheer hopelessness, and you know that. Besides, he would be moving about legitimately this time, with all the right papers, and that’s a big difference.”

Nickel looked down and pushed the leftovers of his lunch back and forth across his plate with the fork. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “But still… I’m simply not comfortable with what you’re suggesting. Sending him out on his own, just like that… Letting him… I’m not sure about this, Roth, not at all. Don’t you think he could be satisfied with me finding him something important to do at the estate only, if he’s really that bored?” 

“You want my honest opinion? No, I actually don’t think he will be, not in the end. He’s been extremely patient with you these last years, Nickel. He serves you loyally, caters to your every whim, he’s behaving, stays out of trouble, respects and loves you, while doing pretty much everything he can, but screaming directly in your face, to make you see him as an actual person and just trust him. I think that’s all he wants, for you to trust him. He only wants to live his life to its fullest potential, as far as the legal restrictions of this country will allow him, and he’s only asking for a chance to prove to you he can do this without screwing up.” 

Nickel was silent for a long time, and kept poking at his leftovers, not looking up at him. “You’re warning me that eventually he’ll stop loving me, if I keep this up,” he said. 

“I wouldn’t say that. His feelings for you sure made it through some pretty rough patches before. All I’m saying is there will probably be many more mornings like this one in the future, if you don’t start to trust him more. He’s not hiding in his room, ignoring you, because he’s being childish, sulky and contrary, but because he literally has nothing to oppose with here, not a damn thing. He has no way of shaking you up, other than keeping himself from you, because he knows that’s a limit you’ll never cross again. 

“He’s your _slave_, Nickel, and you don’t allow him as much as a simple lock on his door, but what do you do? No matter your anger, you don’t set one foot over his threshold without his express permission, and while that makes you a guy I’m fucking proud of calling the best friend I’ve ever had, that’s the _only_ control Serenity has over this situation.”

Nickel still looked down into his plate without saying anything, blushing a little.

Roth went in for the kill. “No matter that you’re his master, and no matter that the guy is only a simple slave, it’s pretty clear to me you do in fact both love and respect him. Now, just trust him, as well!”

\-----o0o-----

It was the fifth time today Nickel stood outside Serenity’s door, but his knocking this time was considerably gentler, no loud banging. “Serenity,” he tried, making sure not to raise his voice more than what was necessary for the slave to be able to hear him through the closed door. “Please let me in so we can talk about this.”

He waited, refraining from further demands, and after a few minutes, he heard shuffling steps and the door finally opened. 

Serenity held the door open for him, head hanging, and then backed into the room again, falling to his knees in the middle of the floor at Nickel’s feet and bowing low. 

“Please forgive me, Master,” he said. “I- I… My behavior is unacceptable. I’ll accept any punishment you’ll deem appropriate.”

Nickel sighed. “As I said, let’s talk about this before we discuss possible punishment, what do you say?”

Serenity looked up at him. “Oh, okay,” he said. 

Nickel took Serenity’s hand, pulled him to his feet and walked him over to the couch, sitting them both down. 

“You’re really not angry?” Serenity asked, with some caution. 

“I was, but Roth and I had a talk, and he has this way of…making you see things differently. Talking about Roth, you don’t happen to have had a conversation with him recently yourself, have you?”

Serenity looked surprised, even a little bit worried. “No, Master. I mean, apart from polite small talk and such, no, not in months. Why?”

“Never mind! Well, as I said, I was talking to Roth, and he has this theory that maybe you have been so cranky lately because you wish for a little bit of freedom to move about on your own. Is this true?”

Serenity stared at him with wide eyes, and then let his gaze drop to his hands in his lap. “Let’s just say that Mr. Roth is quite the perceptive man.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

Serenity didn’t look up from his hands. “Would you have agreed?”

Nickel sighed. “Are we back to this then, where even after all this time, you’re unable to trust me, even the tiniest bit?”

“It’s… That’s not… You _would_ have denied me, Master, you would. I wouldn’t even have blamed you. After all that happened, you had all the right in the world to not trust me and restrict my movements. From your perspective, it was a completely logical thing to do, and I had no business opening my mouth about it. Why would I have asked for such things when I knew you would have given me a resounding ‘no’. Can you deny that?”

“No,” Nickel said. “You’re right. Back then, I would have said no.”

“Right!” Serenity looked away. “I thought, instead of nagging you about it, I’d show you that I had changed, and that you _could_ trust me now even if you couldn’t before. I’d live every day as a better, trustworthy person, I’d prove myself, and eventually you’d see that… You would… But you never…”

“I never noticed. I never saw…”

Again, Serenity looked away. He nodded. 

“Well, I do see it now. I see _you_, Serenity.”

“And- and, what is it that you see, Master?”

“I see a smart and capable man, a trustworthy, knowledgeable adult with talents, and quite considerable charm. A man who has grown and matured and now knows not to waste the opportunities he might be given.”

Serenity’s hands shook. “What does that mean, then, Master? I mean, from a pure practical standpoint?”

“I’m not entirely sure, yet. It doesn’t mean I’ll let go of all restrictions at once, not today, but I guess it does mean I _am_ willing to let go of some, by and by. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Serenity, but it’s been a while since you were out there on your own, and there is no need to rush things, or risk overwhelming you. I do trust you to behave and follow my rules, to be honest with me and don’t take stupid risks, but I still want to make sure you can handle one thing before moving on to the next. I thought, maybe we could start with letting you drive again. I mean, within the borders of the estate only. If you handle that in a responsible way, I might consider enrolling you in driving school, and if you handle _that_ as responsibly, then, yes, in the future I _will_ consider giving you a slave pass.” 

Serenity brightened up, his hands shaking even more in obvious excitement. “I… I- I can handle it, Master. I swear I can. I will be responsible, and follow all the rules, I promise. Please, just give me a chance, and I swear I’ll prove I can handle a driver’s license and a slave pass, too. I’ll do anything to prove it to you.”

Nickel smiled and lifted a hand to caress Serenity’s cheek. “You don’t have to swear, Serenity, just keep doing what you have done all along, live as a better person. This time, I promise, I _will_ see you.” 

Serenity turned in the couch and straddled Nickel’s lap, throwing his long arms around his neck and pressing his mouth to Nickel’s, giving him a long, hot, deep kiss. When he finally broke it, Serenity shook his hair back and looked down on Nickel with a wide grin, pale cheeks flushing and blue eyes glimmering. “And I promise that tonight, I will be the best fuck you’ve ever had,” he said.

Nickel grinned back up at him. “I should see you more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this version, Serenity’s plan simply never worked at all. Nickel remained oblivious to anything Serenity tried, to his helpless and growing frustration. Serenity never figures out what to do to change this. In the end it is, again, Roth coming to the rescue, seeing what Nickel refuses to see, and talking some sense into him. Even after that, though, Serenity only has parts of his wishes fulfilled – the likelihood of several new privileges in a near future.
> 
> However, it’s clear actual freedom is still far off, and probably not likely at all. It seems this is enough for Serenity, though, for now, as he does seem happy here. Will he be content with this forever, though? I guess we will never know for sure, but I doubt it. 
> 
> /Fran


	91. Serenity’s Future Struggles – AU-Version II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet no. 3 here then is the second AU-version of how the plan Serenity mentions in the last chapter of _The Red Braid_ could have ended up for him. In this version, too, Serenity has been Nickel’s property for about three years, or so.
> 
> This is the longest of all the snippets in this bonus material. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> /Fran

”Sarah, right?”

The girl jumped behind the sheet she was hanging, obviously not having heard him entering the laundry over the noisy fan heater, and shyly looked around it.

“Yes?” she squeaked.

Serenity grinned. He knew very well what her name was, it was just she was so easy to embarrass he couldn’t help tease her a little. 

“Taven’s not about,” she said. “He went for his walk in the gardens.”

“Oh, I wasn’t looking for him, I wanted to see you.”

“Me?” she said, shaking out the next sheet and reaching for the lines over her head. Maybe her red cheeks were just from the heat in the room. 

“Yep,” Serenity went on. “I thought you could help me with something.”

“Me?” she repeated, but with both more emphasis and surprise this time. “I… I guess I can try. What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I really need to talk to Mistress Cecilia’s personal slave.”

“Miss Connie? Oh, she never comes down here; you have to go over to the east wing.”

“I don’t think it would be a very good idea for me to just show up over there,” Serenity said with a small wince. 

It was so stupidly ironic, he thought. At the Engel Mansion, the female members of the clan had been fully accepting of him, but the slaves had all hated him, and now that he’d finally ended up in a house where the slave population _didn’t_ have it in for him, the mistress of the house couldn’t stand him.

Sarah looked around another sheet and gave him a sympathetic face. “You probably shouldn’t,” she agreed, confirming his suspicion that Lady Cecilia’s dislike of him wasn’t exactly a secret around here. 

“Right, so I thought maybe you could ask her, Connie, I mean, if she would be willing to see me, because I know you’re sometimes sent over there to clean and… Well, if you happen to run into her, you know, while cleaning stuff, maybe you could just mention I would like to talk to her.”

Sarah hesitated. “As I said, she doesn’t really talk to us lower maids, a bit snooty that one, if you ask me, and… I really don’t know if I could, and…”

“Aw, please try!” Serenity said, going for his most imploring puppy eyes.

Sarah didn’t seem able to look away from that expression, her cheeks reddening again. “Uh… Um… I… I- I… Okay, I’ll try.”

Serenity pulled the sheet aside and leaned down to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, showing her one of his most brilliant smiles.

It definitely wasn’t the fan heater that made her blush so hotly now. Serenity kept smiling. She really was awfully cute, and if he wasn’t so awfully gay, he might even have been a little serious in his compulsive flirting.

\-----o0o-----

Serenity knew he’d been taking a big risk trying to get in contact with the mistress’ personal slave through Sarah, but it had been the only plan he could think of. He didn’t expect much, and was therefore quite surprised to see the sturdy middle-aged woman stride toward him at the back of the house, giving him a sour look as she halted with her arms crossed over her chest. “What do you want?” Connie asked, not bothering with a simple ‘hello’ or any other kind of politeness.

He wasn’t discouraged. Connie was only being loyal to her mistress and he had already got further with this than he had thought he would. “Thanks for seeking me out,” he said. “Really, thank you so much for…”

“Just tell me what you want!” she interrupted. “And be quick about it! Mistress will wonder where I am, and I’m certainly not going to get in trouble because of the likes of _you_.”

Serenity really had to use all his ‘turning the fake nice face on’-power not to answer rudely to that, or show his hurt and anger. Sure, Connie would echo her mistress’ distrust of him, but, really… What had he ever done to her? “I just wanted to ask you,” he said. “If you could maybe mention to Mistress that I was hoping she’d spare a few seconds of her time to see me and…”

“See you? _You_? Not a chance.”

Serenity had no reaction to this; the refusal was entirely expected. “Please,” he tried again. “I’m not expecting you to talk her into it or anything. I’m only asking you to mention it to her, and…” 

“What could _you_ possibly want to see _her_ about?” Connie interrupted him again.

“It’s private,” Serenity simply stated.

She scowled at him. “I’m not going to bother Mistress when I don’t even know what this is about, and if you want to see her, you should ask Master’s permission, and not sneak about downstairs manipulating stupid maids into running your errands.”

Serenity shook his head. “I can’t ask Master,” he said. “And I won’t tell _you_ what it’s about.”

Connie’s scowl deepened. “Who do you think you are?”

Serenity only smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’ll tell you what you’re _not_,” she sneered, clearly angered now. “You’re not a concubine anymore; you’re not even officially an attendant, or a personal slave. You’re just Master’s current fuck toy. Even that washed-up ginger cripple in the kitchens is higher ranked than you. Master’s going to tire of you one of these days, mark my words, and then you’re going to regret insulting Mistress. I’m not going to run your errands, and you are most certainly not going to see Mistress.”

She promptly turned on her heels at these words and walked off, pointedly ignoring his shouted ‘oh, thanks for nothing then’ at her back, which was just as well, because Serenity really had trouble keeping the polite and pleasant mask in place now. “You fucking old bitch”, he muttered to himself as soon as she was out of earshot, thinking that, one day, he’d make her fucking pay for calling Taven a ‘washed-up ginger cripple’.

Besides, her words might have stirred a deep-seated fear within him of Nickel rejecting him again, but she clearly had no idea what she was talking about calling him a mere toy. He was much more than that to Nickel, and the only reason he’d not been officially and formally given a status in this house, was because he was informally and unofficially their master’s lover. Lover, not fuck toy or bed slave. _Lover_.

He was nevertheless somewhat satisfied with the outcome as he turned to walk back to the house. The level of Connie’s vitriol might have been unexpected, but her refusal to ask the Mistress for an audience on his behalf had not. Serenity had known she wouldn’t agree, but he was also fairly sure that she wouldn’t be able to refrain from relating this whole episode to her Mistress, taking the chance, no doubt, to please her by badmouthing him, and his nerve. This, Serenity hoped, would make Lady Cecilia sufficiently curious about what he could want, to grant him that audience, after all.

\-----o0o-----

It took a few days, but then the order came. He was to go to the east wing’s study, and appear before the Mistress, three o’clock in the afternoon. If he hadn’t been so utterly nervous at receiving this message, Serenity would have been considerably smugger at his cunning. He’d known Lady Cecilia would be too curious to ignore his request.

Serenity made sure to prepare well for the meeting, carefully choosing an outfit that made him look humble, downplaying his beauty, without making him look shabby or careless, as well as practicing what he was going to say in front his mirror. He’d tried to anticipate all her objections and figure out how he should react to them, and he’d gone over his created material a hundred times. He was taking a risk, but if it didn’t pan out, he would at least know he couldn’t have done more.

He was still so nervous his knees were shaking when he grabbed his sketchbook and walked over to the east wing. There could be worse consequences from this than the Mistress simply telling him a resounding no and dismissing him. Nickel didn’t know about this, any of it, and if she was angry and demanded her husband punished his much too forward slave, Nickel might be angry enough with him, for going behind his back, to agree. 

Serenity made sure he would stand outside her door at three o’ clock sharp, and not a second before or after.

He knocked and silently slipped inside when he was told to enter. He took one step to the right and immediately sank down on his knees, bowing his head. 

He didn’t like it. 

Nickel rarely, if ever, demanded formality of this kind, and he could hardly even remember when he was last forced to kneel. However, if ever there was a time and place for formality… He bowed his head a little deeper; firmly pressing down any stupid feelings of resentment over that she was obviously letting him stay in this position longer than was strictly necessary. 

Serenity hadn’t forgotten that Connie had informed him the Mistress apparently felt he had insulted her in some way. How? By just existing? By existing here? As much as Serenity wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world than in this house, she must know he had no control over whom his Master chose to keep in his private quarters. Well, it didn’t matter how unfair it was to claim he had ever knowingly insulted her, he couldn’t afford to ‘insult’ her further. 

“Rise!” she finally ordered from her sitting position behind the desk, and he obeyed. 

He rose to his feet as elegantly as he could – he hadn’t forgotten how a concubine should move – and stepped a little closer, but he kept his head bowed, only shortly and discreetly glancing up through his eyelashes to inform himself of the surroundings, and her mood and reactions. His knuckles were turning white at the hard grip of the sketchbook he held before him. 

“I do _not_ accept slaves playing sneaky games with me, boy,” she said. “You have exactly ten seconds to tell me what you want, and if I don’t like what I hear, that will be all the time I will ever give you. Proceed!”

A less verbal slave might have been stumped by this severely limited timeframe and not have found the words. Serenity was not. He might have prepared a long speech, but he had changed tactics faster than that many times in his life before. “Mistress,” he started, throwing himself off the tower, only hoping there was a moat to land in at the bottom, “I would like to design your dress for the royal ball.”

There, he’d said it, with seconds to spare no less, and there was no taking it back. This could make him or break him, but not even if he ended up in the basement with a bleeding back, would he regret taking this risk. 

Complete silence reigned for an uncomfortably long time. “What?” Lady Cecilia finally said. 

The tone of her voice clearly showed just how bizarre she found this request, which didn’t bode well for him, though as long as she was stunned enough not to throw him out… “I think I can design a dress that would be fitting for the ball, Mistress.”

She kept staring at him with an unreadable expression. “I don’t recall Nickel ever mentioning you being educated in this area,” she finally said. 

“I… I’m self-taught, Mistress.”

One corner of her mouth quirked up in a way that could only be described as ‘condescending amusement’. “Is that so? Self-taught, you say? What does that even mean, boy? What exactly is it that you think you can do for me?”

“Everything, Mistress,” he said without hesitation, but winced inwardly at his own words. 

So far, she was obviously letting him speak only because she was amused, in the same way she would be at her five-year-old son claiming he could pilot an airplane, or a similar feat a mere child obviously couldn’t do, but Serenity wasn’t discouraged. As long as she allowed him to keep talking and wasn’t insulted… 

“I mean, when it comes to the dress and the styling, I do believe I can do a lot for you, Mistress. If you’d please let me show you my sketches…”

Lady Cecilia raised her eyebrows. “You _sketch_?” 

She sounded so surprised he couldn’t help the small and fleeting frown. Was it really so inconceivable he would have an artistic and creative streak? What did she think he was doing all day – reclining on his daybed with his ass in the air, eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, and waiting for Nickel to come fuck him? 

“Ah… Yes, Mistress. Yes, I do. I’ve studied this for years, even back at the Engel Mansion, and even more so since I got here. Master is very accommodating and lets me… Well, one of Master Constantine’s maids taught me how to use a sewing machine years ago and Master bought me one for my room here. I’ve been to several royal balls in the past, too, and I keep up with all the latest fashion, as much as I’m able and Master allows me, and… Mistress, please, I can do this. Let me show you my sketches. Please, if you would only look at them…”

“All right,” she interrupted with another condescending but gracious look on her face. “I suppose that folder you’re holding is the sketchbook you refer to? Let me see it then.” She held out a demanding hand across the desktop, and he hurried to put it in her hand, immediately stepping back and looking down, again so nervous he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was not at all sure he wouldn’t still end up in the basement with a flogger. 

It seemed like eons passed while she slowly turned the pages of his sketchbook. Now and then, he dared glance up to try to see what she might think of his designs, but she kept the same neutral expression throughout, finally closing the book without a word. 

“You do understand I can’t agree to this,” she said. 

The ground fell away underneath his feet. He’d told himself it would most likely come to this, and still he had hoped… “You… You don’t like my sketches, Mistress?” he asked, hardly knowing from where he found the strength to utter those words, now that the hope of ever becoming anything else than a mere fucktoy lay crushed before him.

“Serenity,” she said. “It’s no secret I don’t share my husband’s fondness for you, but I won’t let my personal feelings tempt me to lie. Such pettiness is beneath me. These sketches, they’re good. They are very good. So good, in fact, I find myself wondering if this is some kind of trick, slave.”

He gasped. This was a possibility he had completely missed to consider, that she wouldn’t even believe the sketches were his. “I can assure you, Mistress, those are my drawings; those are _my_ ideas. I would never…” 

“Yes, yes, I believe you, slave. You wouldn’t be so utterly stupid as to try to pass off someone else’s work as your own. Obviously, you can draw; clearly you have some good ideas in here, and at this point it wouldn’t even surprise me if you actually _can_ sew, as well, but you have to realize I can’t wear a home-sewn dress made by my husband’s male bed slave to a royal ball. It will be even worse if the dress is admired. People will ask me who the designer is; don’t you understand that? Now, tell me what on earth I will answer them!” 

These were arguments Serenity _had_ prepared for. “The actual dress won’t be made by my hands, Mistress. I’ll sketch out the design, with your cooperation and approval at every step, of course. I’ll sew a mock up, so we can have it properly fitted, and then we’ll have it professionally sewn up by a real tailor. You can tell people it’s your own design, Mistress, or make up a name, maybe a foreign designer, or an up and coming one that no one has heard of. You will come across as supportive of new talent and a patron of the arts”

Again, she raised her eyebrows. “I would have assumed you’d want the credit for it, why else are you even asking me this?”

“I… That’s not… I won’t lie either, Mistress. Open recognition for such a thing would feel very good, but it’s not… I know very well that’s not realistic, and it’s not what I hope for here, and- and…” This was another question he had prepared for, but now that she had asked just that, he felt too raw and vulnerable to admit the real reason. He looked away and fell silent.

If Lady Cecilia noticed, she obviously wasn’t moved. “Answer me properly, slave!” she said. “What is it that you hope for?”

Serenity closed his eyes. He was playing a dangerous game here, not only possibly insulting a lady by asking her to wear his design, but also getting real fucking hurt, wearing his heart on his sleeve before a person he knew disliked him. Everything inside of him protested against showing her any kind of weakness she could use against him. 

“I’m… If you’d allow me to… I know… I know how you all see me. I’m a good-looking, but shallow and stupid whore, good for nothing else than to be my master’s fucktoy. Master… Master doesn’t treat me like a mere toy, he- he doesn’t, but… Please forgive me, Mistress, I’m really not trying to pass myself off as more than I am. I- I know my place, I do… I just want to… I only wished Master would let me… That he would see…” 

He took a deep breath, gathered himself, tried to stop floundering and start to make some sense.

“I know I’m already more spoiled than I deserve, he gives me whatever I fancy and lets me play with whatever I want. I ask for a sewing machine, he buys it. I want to sketch and draw; he gives me the material, time and space. He even looks at what I create, and smiles and says it’s good, but… I only want him to see I can really do something, something real, something… Something that is actually worth something out there, among _real_ people. I- I only want him to be proud of me. It doesn’t matter to me if the rest of the world doesn’t know who designed your dress. _He_ would know.” 

She stared at him. “You would ask your Master’s own _wife_ to aid you in rising in his esteem? Why do you think I would want to do that, rather than doing my best to make my husband stop spoiling you rotten and soundly put you in your place? I have to say, slave, you have some balls.”

Serenity swallowed hard. “Mistress, if you would allow me to speak freely...?”

“As opposed to what you’ve been doing so far, you mean? Well, go on then, and this had better be good.”

Serenity didn’t allow himself to hesitate.

“Mistress, I think we could all benefit here,” he started. “I know… I’m well aware you have great admiration and respect for the man you married. He’s a good father and a good husband, and you care for him deeply, but… Mistress, forgive me my candor, but, you’re not in love with him, and I think you are quite pleased with things, as they are, Master not interfering in… things you want him to stay out of. 

“I- I know you dislike me. I know my reputation from my days as the Engel concubine isn’t exactly stellar. I know you fear the clans might disrespect your husband only for keeping such a one as me and treat me the way he does. You could never like what I am in any case. Even if I were free, you’d detest a man like me; I understand, but… 

“You also know what your husband feels about me, and that that isn’t likely to change. You might wish he would shower his affections on someone else, _anyone_ else. I think you would have preferred if he’d kept Taven, and left me to rot in Lord Albert’s basement. 

“However, no matter whom he focuses on, it benefits you. It just happens to be me, and I do know to keep him satisfied and out of your hair. Master is needy and demanding, we both know that. If I was… gotten rid of, we both know where he would seek love and attention, and it wouldn’t be with Taven anymore. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be at _your_ door.”

He paused to try to assess just how bad this was going, but again she was only showing him that unreadable face and as she wasn’t saying anything, he went on. If she meant to have him punished for this, it would already be too late, he would have already said too much. He might as well go on.

“So- so, me rising in his esteem _would_ benefit you, Mistress, I do believe it would, and… I would benefit, too, but not in the way you think. He already spoils me rotten, as you rightly pointed out, what more could I possibly want if I was only out for material gain. I- I do love him, Mistress, and all I want is for him to truly see me. 

“He would benefit, too, Mistress. He knows you dislike me, and he wouldn’t admit it to you; would never demand you think differently, would always respect your feelings, but he still wishes his choice of me wouldn’t offend you so much. 

“I’m not stupid, Mistress, I know very well me suggesting this won’t make you like me, and you would obviously never fall for me trying to suck up to you. I’m only hoping for that you would at least find me useful. I’ve been trained in attendance since I was nine, after all, and was a concubine already at fifteen. I do know everything about how to carry yourself in these circles, and, if you’ll excuse my rudeness, Mistress, this is your first royal ball, and- and, I know you’re not… I know you’re more comfortable in intellectual circles than with social events of this kind. Use me, Mistress, use my expertise, even if you don’t want my dress. I can help, I know I can.”

He paused again, hardly believing his own nerve. A flogging, with or without Nickel’s approval, seemed a more likely outcome by the second. Still, he pressed on.

“If- if you would want to use me, if you can find me useful enough to assure Master he will never be trapped between his love of me and his respect of you, if he never has to worry he might have to chose between us… That he would have to hurt me physically to satisfy you, or risk insulting you not to hurt me… I know he would greatly benefit from not having to be this conflicted, Mistress, and that’s what I want most of all.”

Serenity took a step back and bowed his head again, only waiting for her answer now. Come what may, he had nothing more to say. 

She cleared her throat. “Let me ask you this, slave. Do you right now fear I will send for men to take you down to the basement and have you severely flogged, no matter what my husband would have to say about it?”

He felt cold all over, shaking on his feet. “I- I… I… Yes, Mistress. I’m quite terrified at the moment, I’m afraid. If- if… If that’s your intention, please forgive me if I pass out. I- I’m trying not to throw up on this carpet as it is, but… I- I might. I’m sorry…”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that’s how you feel, slave, or I would have had to seriously question your sanity.” She shook her head. 

“Now, seeing, as you’re clearly not insane, I do feel forced to admit I might have severely underestimated what’s inside that blond head of yours. You are, in fact, _this_ clever, aren’t you? Not just a pretty face, eh? Is this what you are trying to prove to me? No, don’t answer, slave! 

“All right, you’re obviously as talented and intelligent as you’re ridiculously pretty. This is not to your advantage, slave, and, I would say, is even dangerous to you. You obviously can’t hide your looks, but you should be even smarter, boy, and hide everything else about you. Instead you take an enormous risk, coming here showing me… this. Good God, boy! If you had been born free, you would have outclassed every foppish lord around here, your own master included. They would have never even known what the hell hit them.

“But you’re not. You’re _not_ free, you’re _not_ a lord, and you will _never_ be. Do you realize that if I had felt even the slightest bit threatened by your brilliance, or even the slightest bit offended at your analysis of your master and I, and the living arrangements we’ve chosen, I would not have rested until I knew you were not only punished, but _dead and gone_.”

Serenity swayed and paled, clasping a hand over his mouth.

“Do _not_ throw up on my carpet, slave! I haven’t said I _will_ hurt you, now have I?”

He tried to answer, he really did, but all he managed was to try to swallow down the lump in his throat. He knew he’d been taking a big risk, coming here, but he hadn’t really believed it could cause his death. 

“Cat caught that silver tongue of yours all of a sudden? Well, try to listen instead then, slave. I can’t really argue with what you have told me. What can I say? You’re right about everything. I _am_ not comfortable with those damn events. I hate them, I don’t know fuck all about fashion, and I would need the expertise. I even believe you actually do love Nickel and is trying to do what is best for him. You said you don’t expect me to like you and that you want to benefit from this yourself, as well, and if you hadn’t admitted those things, I would have doubted your sincerity, but… 

“All right, boy, design my dress and help me prepare for that infernal ball. I’m not saying I will wear the dress, but I am promising you I will give you a decent chance to convince me I should.”

Serenity nearly collapsed to the floor in sheer relief. “Th-thank you, Mistress, thank you so…”

“Silence! I’m not finished. I will give you the chance to prove yourself to me, _and_ to Nickel. I will make an effort, too, for Nickel’s sake, to accept you, but I will ask something of you in return. Are you listening, boy?”

“Y- yes, Mistress.”

“Play dumb, Serenity! Whatever you do, never again show this side of you to any free person, apart from Nickel and, I suppose, Roth, because whatever Nickel knows, I just assume that bodyguard knows too, but… Let it stop there, Serenity! For the sake of Nickel’s reputation, this clan, and not least yourself, play the shallow, dumb pretty blond for the rest of your life and don’t try to prove yourself to other people. I know now, okay? You’re a real person, I get it. We’ll make Nickel get it, too. Be satisfied with that.”

Serenity hung his head. Once, he might have been stupid enough to dream of freedom. He knew now it would never be. 

Showing Mistress Cecilia his true self, yes, he had probably managed to secure as good of a life for himself as it was possible, within the legal restrictions of slavery. If he played his cards right in the future, too; he might be given real responsibilities here, be of actual use to the whole estate, not only to Nickel. He might earn some respect for his talents from the only free people whose opinions mattered to him, and the restrictions on his movements might finally lift. His own money, a slave pass, a driver’s license, becoming a concubine again… With Lady Cecilia on his side, all of this was possible, and he would at least be able to _pretend_ he was an independent adult, and not a twenty eight year old _child_. 

At the same time, he had effectively killed off any chance of ever being given actual freedom. Mistress Cecilia now thought him a much too risky character to consider such a thing, and would oppose Nickel every step of the way if he would ever have this wild idea, which he probably never would anyway. Save demanding it straight out, Serenity had never been able to make Nickel coming even close to having this idea. 

Yes, Taven had been right all along, there was no chance of freedom. This was probably the smartest choice Serenity could have made then, but he would never know for sure. He was never going to experience freedom, so how could he compare? 

In the end, he did what he had always done – he accepted reality as it currently presented itself to him, in order to do the best he could of it. 

He looked up and stood tall before her. “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this version, Serenity is equally frustrated that a (probably willfully) oblivious Nickel refuses to see him as anything else than a, by all means, dearly beloved, slave, but he doesn’t sit around for Roth to talk sense into his master this time, being much more proactive here.
> 
> Even if he ends up pretty much the same as in Version I – that is to say with the likelihood of several new privileges in a near future – this version is, I would say, sadder, in that it does seem to show that freedom will be virtually impossible after this, not only less likely. 
> 
> It seems, in this version, Serenity chose to sacrifice his dreams of freedom, knowing deep down that if he tried to work on Nickel’s wife, instead of on Nickel, she would forever put a stop to any such plans. In the end he still chose to go to Lady Cecilia, risking her anger, to, at least, have more privileges, since Nickel’s stubborn denial and refusal to see him as more than a slave most likely will never change. He simply decided to take what little he could get. 
> 
> I do think this version is the more likely one, even if it’s also the more angsty one. 
> 
> As mentioned before, you are certainly free to imagine a third scenario where Nickel does come around and finds a way to free Serenity, and Cecilia accepts him as her husband’s unofficial partner. These two versions are AUs, after all, not really canon :-) 
> 
> /Fran


	92. Serenity and the Head Lord in the Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place after the main story ended, and was never intended to be in it like Snippet no. 1, nor was it a “what if”-scenario such as Snippet no. 2 & 3, it was simply a scene that popped up in my head and that I felt an urge to write down.
> 
> It’s not clear exactly when this would have taken place, but it’s probably at least a few months, maybe a year, or so, after Snippet no, 1, where Serenity is now established in his role as Nickel’s new bed slave/attendant. The old Head Lord’s anger over the whole thing has mostly subsided, and he accepts Serenity’s presence in his son’s life. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> /Fran

Serenity was on his feet in two seconds flat at the demonstrative cough behind him. He turned around in front the garden bench he’d just bolted out of and bowed deeply to the old lord, surprised at the sight. Nickel’s father was out puttering about in his gardens all the time when he visited the mansion, but usually not this early in the morning. Judging from his clothing, though, he didn’t intend to do any gardening at this hour, but was obviously only out for a stroll, much like himself.

“I thought you’d take the opportunity to sleep in, boy,” the old lord said with an amused smirk. 

Serenity allowed himself a small smile in return. Even though the old lord only came to the mansion a few weeks every year, he was familiar with his son’s habit of walking in the gardens early in the morning, as well as of Serenity being dragged along at most of these walks despite not showing overly much enthusiasm. “I couldn’t sleep, Master,” he explained. 

“Ah,” the old lord said. “Well, as you’re up anyway, walk with me!”

Serenity bowed again and followed a few steps behind as the old lord continued his stroll down the garden path. 

“You miss him,” the old lord said, without turning his head.

Serenity only nodded, before remembering he wasn’t in the lord’s line of sight and should speak up properly.”I do, Master. Not that I begrudge him of a well-needed vacation,” he added, thinking he shouldn’t appear as being too selfish in wanting his master to himself. 

The rare family vacation Nickel had taken his wife and child on was well deserved, after all. Serenity was still a bit miffed Lady Cecilia had managed to talk Nickel into taking them on a weeklong trip _abroad_. Leaving the country made it impossible for Serenity to go with them, as slaves could not have passports and were never allowed to cross a border. Serenity scowled behind the old lord’s back, he was sure this was deliberate on Lady Cecilia’s part. She might not mind her husband keeping him, and Serenity might have no reason to be jealous of them romantically, but, occasionally, she seemed to crave the appearance of normal family life and would then make sure he was thoroughly dismissed until she tired of it. 

Luckily, it rarely lasted more than a few days, at the most. 

“You shouldn’t,” the lord said. “You have his undivided attention more than most, you spoiled creature.”

There was more amusement than scolding in the old lord’s voice. He obviously harbored no illusions about the nature of his only son’s marriage, or of the former Engel clan concubine’s presence in the young lord’s rooms. Serenity still felt a bit chastised, he really shouldn’t be so selfish. 

The old lord slowed down in front of him, his sudden stumbling gait making it obvious he was favoring one leg over the other. He started to limp and gave up a pained groan. 

Serenity was quickly at his side, tentatively offering support at the old man’s elbow. “Master, are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” the old man replied, even while accepting the support. “It’s this damn ankle. It gives me such trouble at times. Get me over to a bench!”

Luckily, it wasn’t very far between the green-painted benches that were placed out along the paths. Serenity stayed at the lord’s side until they reached one, and the old man could finally sit down, which he did heavily with yet another pained groan.

Serenity sank down on his knees in front of him. “Would massage make it better, Master?” he asked.

The old lord hesitated, but then… “Oh, why not? I’m sure it can’t make it worse.”

Serenity removed the Head Lord’s shoe and sock, and started to knead the swollen ankle. Massaging an old man’s feet wasn’t exactly the most pleasurable thing he could be doing this morning, but he didn’t much mind either. If his ‘magic fingers’, as Nickel called them, could soothe the old man’s aches, it sure couldn’t make his standing here worse. 

He wasn’t sure if he actually did need to increase his standing in the old lord’s eyes, though, as he had never been able to figure out what the Head Lord really thought of his presence here. Serenity had few reasons to be around the old lord, and when he’d once asked Nickel about it, he’d only claimed his father didn’t mind, which didn’t tell him much. He only knew the Wren clan’s Head Lord had never openly acted against him, but that didn’t mean he liked him being here. 

Yes, a good old rubdown with the ‘magic fingers’ couldn’t hurt. 

It also wasn’t long before the pained groans turned into restrained sounds of pleasure instead. 

“I have to say, boy,” the old lord said between two such moans, “you are quite skilled with your hands. Is this something Constantine saw to it you learned?”

“Yes, Master,” Serenity replied. “Master Constantine had a professional massage therapist show me how. It was only a few short introductory lessons, though. I’m by no means an actual massage therapist.”

“Well, what little you learned seems sufficient enough.”

They fell silent while Serenity worked on the bad ankle. “Master, if I may speak to ask,” Serenity said, breaking this silence. “How did you hurt your ankle? Was it the backstairs in the house that…?”

“Oh,” the old lord interrupted. “This is not a recent injury. It happened up at the summerhouse several years ago, on the front steps outside. It was a simple twist of the ankle, slipping on a patch of ice, but the ankle has never been the same since. A weakening of the ligaments the old quack in the village claims. A damn nuisance it is, and all only because that idiot of a slave didn’t sand the steps properly.” 

Serenity winced. He didn’t even want to think about how badly that poor slave must have been flogged for causing the very Head Lord a lasting injury with such an immensely stupid amount of sloppiness. The sloppiness was so bad he was almost prepared to say the guy deserved it, but still shuddered at the inner unbidden vision of a naked body hanging by abused wrists from the rafters in a dingy ice cold old shed with a bloody back. 

The old lord obviously noticed his consternation. “Ah, you believe that slave ended up in more pain than I, after that, do you?” he said, a bit of sharpness to his voice. “And this bothers you?” 

“Uh… Ah… I- I wouldn’t say such sloppiness doesn’t deserve a harsh punishment, Master,” Serenity tried. 

“Perhaps,” the old lord conceded. “In this case however… I suppose I should have known better than to put such responsibility onto the sloping shoulders of that particular slave. Mentally, he never developed beyond the age of five and I shouldn’t have assumed he could handle it. How could I beat such a creature, what good would it do?” The old lord sighed. 

Serenity looked up at the old man and couldn’t help how his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He didn’t know many free people who would keep such a slave around. Constantine sure wouldn’t have. 

The old lord noticed this expression, too. “My lenience surprises you this much?”

“No, Master,” Serenity said carefully. “Not your _lenience_…”

“Oh,” the lord said. “The boy is of little use, I concede, hardly worth it to keep around, I agree, but, he was born in the house and he _is_ someone’s child, and… Slaves are different from free people, it’s what I was taught, and I have seen no reason throughout a long life to overturn this conviction. Granted, with slaves like you, the difference is really quite minimal, but when it comes to the workers… Even so, I can’t imagine the loss of a child, for them, would be radically less painful than…”

‘…than it was for you,’ Serenity thought as the old Head Lord silenced and looked away. 

“I suppose your son must have inherited his good heart from someone,” he said, taking a risk in hoping the light and familiar note of his, by all means, entirely honest words, would amuse the lord and take him out if his sad thoughts. 

Luckily, they did. The old lord turned his head back and smiled. “Nickel widely surpasses his father when it comes to compassion, I’m afraid. Something that _you_ should be very grateful for, young man!”

Serenity turned a little pink and looked down on his hands, still massaging the old man’s ankle. “I- I am, Master. I really, really am. He- he saved my life, he…”

“So he did,” the Head Lord said, his smile dying out. He shook his head, staring grimly at the slave at his feet. “Face like a woman, a radiant smile; eyes of an angel with the mind of a whore… That’s all it took for Nickel to ruin irreparably a close and mutually beneficial friendship with a neighboring clan that had lasted for hundreds of years. He didn’t even hesitate.”

Serenity’s hands stopped the massaging movements and his eyes widened in shock, a sense of dread washing over him, as if someone had upended a bucket of ice water on top his head.

The old lord smirked at him. “Oh, don’t worry, slave. I understand very well that the break between our clans was due much more to Nickel’s nature, than your influence. You’re a clever boy, I’m well aware, but this was all Nickel’s doing. Mr. Roth provided me with all the necessary information. I know you had nothing to do with it, and wasn’t even aware until after the fact. You think I would have let you remain here, if I didn’t think that was the case? No, Nickel is headstrong, and isn’t as easily swayed by others as some might think, including myself, I’m afraid. If anyone has any influence over my son worth mentioning, it’s Mr. Roth. Fortunately, a commoner though he might be, the man is an unusually decent sort. Besides…” 

Lord Wren smirked again, with considerable more contempt this time. “Albert Engel is an _awful_ man, and if Nickel hadn’t broken it off with him, eventually I would have had to, and what excuse could _I_ have for doing such a thing?” 

Serenity couldn’t help gaping. Deep down, the Head Lord agreed with what Nickel had done?

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Serenity, you know better than most just how awful Albert is. Don’t you think I noticed, too?” The old lord frowned deeply. “Granted, if he’d only taken out his sadistic urges and insulting manners on slaves, many would have excused me for turning a blind eye to his nature, which I’m not saying I did, but he was just as awful to his own father, for goodness sake.” 

Serenity looked down again. He wouldn’t say Albert had been _just_ as awful to his father as he had to others. He had never dared physically assaulting his father, after all, and there were many out there, free women, as well as slaves of both genders, who could only wish Albert had spared them that experience. Serenity didn’t even want to think about how much Albert would have beaten _him_ if he hadn’t lived under Constantine’s protection. 

Even so, he agreed with the old lord, Albert had been awful to Constantine. The things he had called his own father in the heat of an argument, the things he had said behind his back… If the Wren clan’s Head Lord only knew a fraction of it, it was no wonder he detested Albert as much as he obviously did. He and Constantine had been close friends for more than half a century, after all.

The old lord was still frowning. “Constantine was a good, decent and upstanding man and the disrespect he had to put up with from his own heir… It’s appalling! What did he ever do to deserve disrespect from anyone?”

“He…” Serenity blurted out in protest. The old lord’s unreserved praise of his old friend galled him. It might be true that Constantine shouldn’t have had to put up with disrespect from his own son, but his former owner really hadn’t been such a perfect man. The Engel clan’s former Head Lord might not have been an evil person, but he had been far from a saint. 

Serenity quickly cut himself off, though, bowed his head deeper and resumed the massage. Of course, the old lord’s question had only been rhetorical. It wasn’t as if he would seriously ask a slave what they thought their former master deserved, or not. Serenity’s opinions did not count. He knew better than to open his mouth about such things, and only hoped the old lord hadn’t noticed. 

Unfortunately, the Head Lord had both noticed, and seemed curious of what he’d been about to say. “You do not agree, boy?” he asked, deceptively friendly. 

“It’s… not my place to agree or disagree,” Serenity said.

“I’m making it your place,” the lord insisted. 

Serenity swore inside his head, cursing his big stupid mouth, trying to think both hard and fast about how to put this in a way that wouldn’t make the old lord angry with him, but without lying. “I do agree, Master, about everything you said about Lord Albert, but- but… No man is perfect… Master Constantine wasn’t… either…” He cursed again, over how his fingers trembled where they massaged the old man’s ankle, making it impossible to hide how scared he was. 

The old lord pursed his lips. “So, it’s ‘slaves correct the masters’-day today, is it? Well, you speak a truth so fundamental it would be hard for anyone to argue with you. No man is perfect indeed, and Constantine wasn’t, I agree, which does not make him a bad man worthy of disrespect. Do you perhaps have complaints? I seem to recall he treated you exceptionally well and spoiled you even more than Nickel does, if such a thing is even possible.” The lord rolled his eyes. 

Serenity didn’t answer, as he couldn’t imagine there _was_ an answer a lord would accept. He remained silent. 

“Cat got your tongue?” the lord said, obviously expecting an answer in spite of this.

Serenity slowly shook his still bowed head. “No, Master… I’d say it’s more like fear is cramping it.”

“I see… Well, I have faith in your cleverness, boy. I’m sure you can find a way to voice your complaints, without angering me. Now, out with it!”

…and there it was, a direct order. Serenity sighed deeply, his shoulders sloping in defeat, there was no way out of this, it seemed. “Master Constantine did treat me exceptionally well, Master,” he started, stepping out onto the quagmire with not a little amount of trepidation. “I really only have one complaint, a complaint I’m very well aware holds no validity whatsoever in free men’s eyes, and that I would have kept to myself if I was anywhere near as clever as you claim. Yes, Master Constantine treated me well, I only wish he… When it came to the parts of my duties where I had to… I only wish he would have waited with… those things.” He looked up, pleading with his eyes to be understood. “I was so young, Master, I was so, so young. I only wish he would have waited a few more years.”

It seemed it was the old lord who didn’t know what to say now. He stared down at Serenity for the longest time with a deep frown. “I thought he did wait,” he finally said. “You were fifteen.”

“Fifteen is fine, Master, if your lover is about the same age, and… well, your _lover_. For a fifteen-year-old slave to keep a 50-year-old _master_ satisfied, though… The responsibility of it; the consequences of failing, the burden of the category you are put in, the way others will always look at you from that day on, the way it isolated me from everybody else… That’s young… Too young! How could he not have seen that? But, I was pretty, that was all he saw, that was all he ever saw, and I knew… He didn’t have _penetrative_ sex with me before I turned fifteen, no, but from I was a child I felt his eyes on me, his hands… and I knew what he would one day do to me. I _knew_, and for years I waited for that day, in _fear_.”

Again, the old lord was silent for more than a few heartbeats. “When I took you to bed that night…” 

“Oh, that was different, Master. I was nineteen. By then I had already done it all, a thousand times over, and had quite grown into the role, embraced ‘the whore’ as it was. I wasn’t scared anymore, and you were gentler and kinder than most in any case. _You_ did not take a child to bed, but… I beg your forgiveness, Master, I mean no disrespect, and I know it’s not wrong in the eyes of the law, but- but, Constantine _did_.”

The old lord sighed deeply, looking unexpectedly sad. “What can I tell you, Serenity? We are a degenerate lot, most of us, and your lot is the one to suffer. There’s no excuse, but neither is there justice. Not in our times.”

“I- I neither expects, nor seeks it, Master. I know my place, I swear I do, but you wanted to know, and…”

“Yes, yes, I will take responsibility for forcing the truth out of you. You don’t need to fear punishment.”

Serenity bowed his head again, grateful and relieved, but most of all completely astonished. 

He might have believed the old man would be lenient with his impertinence, but that a _Head Lord_ had acknowledged his complaint as an actual injustice… No, not in a million years would he have believed it even possible. It didn’t mean anything would ever be done about it, obviously. The old lord had been brutally honest and open, ‘there is _no_ justice for you, don’t even think about it.’ The acknowledgement alone, however… 

Maybe there was hope still, for actual change in this country, maybe not for him, or any other now living slave, but for future generations. 

The old lord pulled his foot out of his hands. “That will do, I’m sure,” he said. “I think I can walk back to the house now.” 

Serenity hurried to assist in putting on the sock and shoe again, helping the old man get up from the bench. 

The Head Lord smiled at him. “Walk with me,” he said, offering his arm.

Serenity bowed his head, and took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this was it, I’m afraid. This is now officially _all_ material there is to read in _The Red Braid_ universe. There is nothing else, and it’s highly unlikely there will ever be anything else, at least not from my “pen”. Feels a bit sad that it is now really all over, but… everything has an end.
> 
> I want to thank every single person who has followed this story to the end, or who only checked it out, and who has been so nice to me on this journey. Thanks for all the views, subscriptions, kudos, bookmarks, comments, fanart, recommendations, support and Discord discussions. You have all made it a pleasure to share this story. 
> 
> \-----o0o-----
> 
> My Discord invite (**18+ ONLY**, please!): 
> 
> https://discord.gg/WzHjWP8cFw 
> 
> Pop in to chat about whatever! :-) (Note: NSFW material, imagery and chats can turn up anywhere in the server.) 
> 
> /Fran

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart to "The Red Braid" by Fran_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250805) by [leaovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaovo/pseuds/leaovo)
  * [Fanart for The Red Braid by Fran_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265919) by [PaxterHobber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber)


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